


Strings Attached

by JayMor



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Art, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, So much angst, Soulmates, communication is important kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-04-22 16:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14312865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayMor/pseuds/JayMor
Summary: Jongdae and Yixing are college students in a world where on their twentieth birthdays, the names of their soulmates tattoo themselves on their bodies. On Yixing's twentieth birthday, Jongdae's name appears in his ankle. But Jongdae is a declared straight man, in a three year relationship with the beautiful Liyin. So Yixing decides to remain quiet, even though it causes him incredible pain. Jongdae knows he is losing Yixing, but he doesn't know why. Can the two fix themselves before it's too late?





	1. ART 126

Jongdae met Yixing on his fourth day of classes, an hour into ART 126, when he was trying desperately to find green paint so that he could finish his goddamn tree and leave. It wasn’t like the grad student overseeing their studio time hadn’t pulled out every other color of paint under the sun anyway so Jongdae couldn’t understand why there wasn’t green.

Until he saw the empty green bottle. Then he knew. And promptly swore, garnering the attention of the other Asian in his class, a guy with dimples and messy hair who looked like he had just rolled out of bed (never mind that ART 126 was at two in the afternoon) and stumbled into class in the jeans he had forgotten to change out of the night before.

“Is something wrong?”

Jongdae grimaced, eyes landing on the dark green paint on the guy’s pallete as bitterness began to claw its way through his chest. Seriously, he just needed a passing grade to satisfy his general ed. Why did he have to deal with this? And to add insult to injury, not only did Dimple take the rest of the green paint but his painting was clearly better. When the grad student Kris had told them they needed to paint something peaceful (just as an easy starter and to get a handle on the different levels of the class, seeing as it was an intro to painting class so there wasn’t much to be expected) Jongdae had painted nature, because what was more peaceful than nature? But not Dimple. Oh no, not Dimple. Where everyone else was painting trees, Dimple had gone in a complete opposite direction, instead painting the colorful cacophony of what appeared to be the downtown of a Chinese metropolis. The figures in his painting blurred just slightly, as if they had been caught in motion, with the exception of two: an old man sitting in a wheelchair with a young woman on a bench next to him. Those two were completely still, an unnervingly realistic expression of love and quiet across their faces, as if they inhabited their own world despite the bustle around them. It made Jongdae’s own painting of a big tree by a river look shoddy. And it frustrated Jongdae even more. “There’s no green paint.”

Dimple stared back at Jongdae with an expression of subtle amusement in his eyes. “So?”

Jongdae pouted a little before making his face angry again, reminding himself that he was talking to the asshole that had used up the last of the paint in the first place. “I need some so I can finish my tree and there isn’t any left.” He sent a meaningful look towards Dimple’s pallete.

Then Dimple _really_ laughed.

“Do you—” he stopped talking to gasp a little, trying to swallow his mirth, “Do you really think I used the rest of it?”

Jongdae nodded. It seemed like a reasonable assumption to him, given that there was green paint on Dimple’s pallete and the empty bottle sat in the trash can closest to him.

“Oh gosh,” Dimple laughed a bit more before clearing his throat, sitting up a little straighter as he informed Jongdae, “The green ran out before I got to it. I had to make my own.” He sniffed a bit, his tone adopting a slightly snobbish lilt. “That’s why my green actually looks nice, instead of those god-awful generic kindergarten colors they give us.”

Jongdae raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, before realizing what Dimple had actually said.

“Wait a minute,” Jongdae began, “you _made_ your green?”

Dimple nodded, not sure what Jongdae was getting at. It was, quite frankly a fairly simple process.

“How?” Jongdae whined. Seriously, he just wanted some green paint. Was that too much to ask? Jongdae was only minutes away from rage quitting for the day when Dimples cracked another grin, patting the stool beside him in a motion for Jongdae to sit.

“It’s simple,” Dimple began, drawing out a diagram on a blank page in his sketchbook. “There are three primary colors, yellow, red and blue. If you have those three colors, you can make almost any other color. For example, blue and red make purple. Red and yellow make orange. And yellow and blue make green. Purple, orange and green are the secondary colors.” He shot a glance at Jongdae to make sure he was following. When Jongdae nodded he continued. “Turns out, black grey and white aren’t colors. They’re shades. You can mix them into the colors on the color wheel—the rainbow colors, red orange yellow green blue purple, you know, those ones—to make them darker or lighter. Does that make sense?”

Jongdae stared for a while, mouth gaping at the diagram Dimple had drawn as he talked. The top half was a color wheel that he had painted color into. The bottom half was a bunch of different color combinations, resulting in new colors. It was incredibly comprehensive, and nothing Jongdae had ever learned before. He gulped a little, side-eyeing Dimple a little. “Are you even supposed to be in this class?” he muttered, the level of detail and expression in Dimple’s painting furthering his respect. The guy grinned, his dimple becoming even more obvious. You could take a shot out of that dimple, Jongdae thought, before quickly getting off _that_ train of thought.

“Not really, no,” Dimple replied. “To be honest, I’m only in this class because I lost a bet against Yifan.”

“Yifan?”

“Oh, sorry. I’m talking about the grad student teaching this class. I forget that he calls himself Kris when he talks to you guys.”

“You know the grad student?” Jongdae couldn’t stand up any faster. “You aren’t spying for him are you? Like finding the bad at art people so he can flunk them? Because I really need to pass this class.”

Dimple laughed so hard he fell over, causing twenty-four heads to swivel in his direction, including Kris’s.

“Yixing?” the grad student asked, his tone heavy with worry, “Are you all right?”

Dimple—who was apparently actually named Yixing—grinned from his new seat on the floor before standing carefully, rubbing his back a little. “I’m fine! I might be sore tomorrow, but I’m fine.”

Kris didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? You don’t have to stay here you know.”

“Nah,” Yixing pushed away his concern with a wave of his hand. “I’ll stick around. Besides,” Yixing grinned, his dimple coming out in full force again as he slung an arm around Jongdae’s shoulders, “I’ve got myself a student now.”

Kris raised a bushy eyebrow. “Oh you do, do you? And how did that happen?”

Yixing turned around, ripping his color diagram he had drawn earlier out of his sketchbook and waving it around in Kris’s face. “Like this,” he boasted, before shoving the piece of paper into Jongdae’s unsuspecting hands. “Teaching the color wheel like a pro!”

For a few seconds Jongdae legitimately thought that Kris was going to kick Yixing out of the room, if his furrowed brow and angry glare were anything to go off of. But then his expression cracked and Kris dissolved into a giggling mess as he choked out a strangled, “fuck you Yixing.”

Yixing grinned back, sticking out his tongue before remarking, “You might want to get your shit together Yifan. Your class is looking at you weird.”

It took a second, but his words had an effect. The grad student straightened up, re-schooling his features into an eerily blank face as he turned back to the rest of the class. In moments everyone was working again, scared to suffer the wrath of the intimidating man. Kris shot a final, brief wink to Yixing before returning to pacing in between the tables, carefully appraising each student’s work.

“Okay,” Jongdae stated, holding his hands out in a steadying gesture. “What just happened there? And how the hell do you know the guy teaching our class?”

Yixing laughed, barely restraining himself from pinching Jongdae’s cheeks. His confused look was adorable. “Yifan and I are friends from China. He moved away when I was seventeen, but we were really good friends before then. I applied here when I found out he was going to school here. He decided to go for a masters, so now he has to teach in order to graduate. But he’s kind of shitty at people—I mean, you’ve seen him. His face scares everyone. So he made a bet with me: if he was given a painting class I’d have to take it and if he was given a drawing or art history class he’d have to be my beer supplier for the year. But I lost, so now here I am taking the class even though I really don’t need it.”

The information wasn’t enough for Jongdae. “What do you mean you don’t need it?”

“Well,” Yixing began, his tone just a tiny bit dry, “I’m an art major and in China I actually went to an arts high school, so it’s not exactly like I need an intro to painting class. Not to mention I’m actually on scholarship for art, so there’s that. Besides, I’m a sophomore, so I got most of my general ed credits out of the way last year. I’ve just got one more science class to take and then I’m done, especially since my SAT scores were high enough that I tested out of math. So really, there’s nothing that would force me or inspire me to take this class except Yifan, who would murder me if I tried to back out. So here I am.” His expression was completely blank and his tone felt annoyed, but for some reason Jongdae couldn’t help but think Yixing secretly enjoyed the class, so he shrugged it off.

“Fair enough. Does that mean you’ll help me pass the class?”

Yixing gave him an angry glare. “Isn’t that what I’m already doing, Mr. You Used Up All The Green?” Jongdae merely shrugged, unable to argue back with that particular logic. Yixing frowned. “What’s your name anyway? You never told me.”

“Oh, sorry. It’s Jongdae. Kim Jongdae. Nice to meet you.” He held out his hand, wet specks of paint on his fingers. Yixing grinned, taking his hand and shaking it, his hand becoming a bit more colorful in the process.

“Nice to meet you Jongdae. I’m sure you’ve heard, but I’m Zhang Yixing.”


	2. BIRTHDAY

Yixing ran into Jongdae outside of class for the first time on September second, literally. He’d been rushing from his Spanish Composition class to Yifan’s apartment for lunch when his body crashed into something solid—but also a little squishy—sending both him and the innocent bystander flying. Granted, he had had his headphones stuffed over his ears and his eyes glued to the text Yifan had sent him a few minutes ago demanding his presence so he wasn’t exactly clued in to his surroundings, but that didn’t make it any less painful. Especially when Jongdae—the poor victim—punched him in the gut on reflex. That really hurt. Yixing felt bad about it, really, especially when Jongdae bent over to moan about his knee. He gave him a few awkward pats on the back as a sorry but didn’t stick around. Yifan was a good friend, but he was kind of a bitch about punctuality and Yixing only had seven more minutes to haul ass across campus. Lucky for Yixing, Jongdae didn’t recognize him until the Chinese student had already run too far to be caught.

But Jongdae didn’t forget.

It became painfully apparent that something was wrong ten minutes into their Art 126 class on Tuesday. For starters, Jongdae sat down across the room from Yixing, next to an overly chatty journalism major named Baekhyun. Then he refused to make eye contact with Yixing and would direct all of his art questions either to Baekhyun or Hani, a freshman art major. Twice Yixing tried to walk by Jongdae and start a conversation, but he was brutally shut down both times.

The first attempt only lasted two sentences.

“Hey Jongdae, how are you t—”

“Baekhyun, you said you wanted to grab a sandwich with me later, right?”

The second lasted three.

“I can’t make my tree look realistic at all Hani!! Help me!”

“Jongdae, you know you can—”

“Did you say something Yixing? I didn’t hear you.”

Yixing gave up after that.

Instead Yixing slouched back to his seat, pulling his hood down over his eyes and shoving his earbuds into his ears. Three minutes into isolating himself from the world Yifan wandered over and dropped onto the stool next to Yixing, shooting an appraising look at his painting. Yixing gave a slight nod, acknowledging Yifan’s presence without looking away from his work, carefully adding a dash of red to a neon sign in the background. Yifan nudged his shoulder a little, offering a smile of encouragement accompanied with a whispered “it looks good” when Yixing’s eyes met his before patting his knee and sauntering off to help the blonde sorority girl across the room. Yixing watched him go with a half-smile on his lips. Yifan was a good friend. Even if he made weird bets and had a scary face and couldn’t flirt with a girl to save his life he still noticed whenever Yixing was hurting, no matter how well Yixing tried to hide it. He was a good friend and his subtle comfort did wonders for Yixing’s mood. It sucked that Jongdae ignored him and blew him off, especially when the time they had spent together in class was beginning to forge a firm friendship between the two, but things would work out.

Yixing had to believe that. Things would work out. He’d talk to Jongdae after class.

Or at least, that’s what Yixing told himself.

But at the end of class when Jongdae stood to wash his brushes and pack up Yixing stayed seated, his eyes glued to his painting and his headphones still firmly in his ears. It wasn’t that Yixing didn’t want to talk to Jongdae, or that he was trying to avoid the conversation. It was merely that his focus was on his work, he hadn’t realized class was over, and he didn’t want to get shut down again. The first two times has been uncomfortable enough, thank you.

Yixing wouldn’t necessarily describe himself as a coward. If anything, he claimed his actions stemmed from caution and an innate desire to avoid extra stress. But it didn’t really matter, because regardless of Yixing’s justifications in the end he stayed seated as Jongdae stood, backpack in hand, and left the room. And then he got angry with himself. Because what the _fuck_ was he thinking? He didn’t even know why Jongdae was ignoring him and he just let him walk out? At which point Yifan walked by Yixing again, smacking him lightly on the head with a handful of semi-wet paintbrushes.

“You’re thinking too much about something. Your forehead got all wrinkly and your dimple disappeared. What’s up?”

Yixing groaned, rubbing his head carefully and pouting at the paintbrushes in Yifan’s hand. “Jongdae won’t talk to me.”

Yifan nodded. “I know,” he replied, drawing out the “o” sound at the end. “What else?”

“I didn’t talk to him before he left.” The pout settled deeper onto Yixing’s face.

“Welp,” Yifan patted Yixing’s back lightly with the paintbrushes, leaving a small wet-spot on his baby blue sweater, “best of luck with that. I have to call my mom, or else I’d help you out. She’s been texting me all day, threatening to disown me if I don’t ‘call her and make her old mother heart happy’. So I’m going to do that.”

Yixing smiled a little. “Okay. Do you mind if I stick around a while and finish this up? I’m just adding the last details and then I’m done.”

“You do realize there’s a whole other class to work on this, right?”

“Yeah,” Yixing dabbed a bit of silver-grey onto a background building, “but I have a pretty big project due in my drawing class at the end of next week, and I need more time to finish it so I was going to use the next class for that. I’ll be done with this in just a few minutes anyway and I know where everything goes. I can even lock up for you if you want. Please?” He stared at Yifan with a hopeful expression, his eyes big and just a little bit teary.

“Damnit.” Yifan grimaced, throwing a set of keys at him. “You can stay. Just _make sure_ you lock up. And give me back my keys later tonight. You can drop by my apartment if you want; I’ll be home. I hope you realize how super _not_ okay this is though. I could get in a shit ton of trouble if my professor found out, so don’t fuck around. Got it?”

Yixing saluted, nodding with a serious expression before cracking into a gentle laugh. “Don’t worry Yifan, I’ll be careful. Good luck with your mom!” Yifan saluted back, shooting Yixing a smile in thanks before disappearing out the door.

It clicked quietly closed behind him.

And Yixing was alone.

For a moment he sat, staring aimlessly at his easel and trying to remember what he was doing. He stayed like that for a few minutes before shuddering, trying to shake out the momentary funk he had settled into.

“Come on Xing,” he muttered, picking up a paintbrush and covering the tip with a metallic gold. “You can do this. You’ve done it before. Just paint, then it’ll get better. Come on.”

His first stroke wobbled a bit, but his second felt more firm. By his fifth his hand steadied and he was back to normal, carefully adding glimmer to the lines where his imaginary sun hit, so immersed that he didn’t hear the door open or click shut behind him. Nor did he notice the person breathing quietly behind him, watching him work with a mixture of awe and envy. It was the voice that finally caught his attention.

“I still don’t get how you paint this well Dimple. You’re like Picasso.”

Then Yixing spun around, eyes wide and barely avoiding painting a long gold streak across his canvas. “Dae? What’re you doing in here? Wait,” Yixing’s eyes widened even further. “You’re talking to me?”

Jongdae scoffed, leaning over to set his chin on Yixing’s shoulder while playfully avoiding eye contact. “Of course I’m talking to you. Why wouldn’t I?”

“But” Yixing stammered, completely at a loss. “You wouldn’t talk to me at all in class today and you sat by Baekhyun and Hani!”

“Bacon and Smiles?” Jongdae grinned, his lip curling into his signature cat-like smirk. “Yeah, I did. Bacon wanted to talk about my roommate so I sat by him, and then class started so I couldn’t move.” Yixing opened his mouth to argue, but Jongdae cut in again before he got the chance. “Did you know that Smiles is dating that kind of terrifying looking super awesome music major senior? He’s the one that does all their musicals and preforms with big artists and stuff. I can’t remember his name.”

“Junsu?” Yixing asked, confused and wondering why he cared about Hani’s relationship status.

“Yeah!” Jongdae clapped his hands together. “Junsu! I swear, if I was gay I’d be so jealous. That guy’s voice is orgasmic.”

“W-wait. Hold up. Why wouldn’t you talk to me then?”

“Oh,” Jongdae stopped obsessing over Junsu for a moment, stilling as if he were reminding himself why he had come in in the first place. “Remember that day when you crashed into me outside and I punched you in the stomach and my knee got hurt?”

Yixing nodded, unsure where this was going but also just a little scared. Jongdae didn’t really seem stable.

“Yeah. Anyway about that,” Jongdae picked up one of Yixing’s paintbrushes and began to attack him with it, playfully yelling as he did so. “That HURT you BASTARD!! And NOW my KNEE IS BRUISED all because of YOU!!” Jongdae put the paintbrush down and cleared his throat before continuing. “So basically I felt like being petty and ignoring people is a surefire way to piss them off so I ignored you. So yeah. But I’m over it now, so I figured I’d make sure you weren’t super upset after class but then you never came out—even when Kris did—so I figured I’d come in. Are you hungry?”

Yixing gaped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish in a fish tank, his brain desperately trying to follow what Jongdae had said. It fixated itself on the food question. “Um, yeah. I-I guess. Why?”

Jongdae didn’t respond. At least, not in the way Yixing wanted to. Instead he threw out a “perfect!” before grabbing Yixing’s brushes and traipsing off to the sink to wash them. “Come on Dimple!! Get up. We’ve got places to go!”

In a daze Yixing did as he said, carefully putting away his canvas so the paint had a chance to dry and wandering around the classroom locking various cupboards so Yifan wouldn’t murder him. Meanwhile Jongdae danced about, smirking a little too wide and looking a bit too smug for anyone’s good. Yixing finished up putting things away a few minutes later and in a flash the two were streaking out of the building, Yixing flying along behind Jongdae as he desperately tried to keep up with the prankster who had a death grip on his wrist.

 

“McDonald’s? Really Dae? Of all the places we could have had our “make up lunch”, you chose McDonalds?”

Jongdae grinned, his cheeks stuffed full of fries as he answered back, pieces of salty potato flying everywhere. “McDonald’s is the shit! Besides, I’m poor. It’s not like I can afford anything fancier. You don’t seem to have an issue with it though. You finished faster than I did.”

Their eyes settled on the empty fry container and crumpled paper on the dingy mall food court table and Yixing shrugged, unable to argue with Jongdae. “Just because its cheap food doesn’t mean I won’t eat it. Especially if you’re buying.”

“See!” A piece of half chewed fry landed uncomfortably close to Yixing’s elbow. “It’s a great make up lunch! Especially since—”

“Jongdae?!?”

Both boys jumped. The voice was piercing. It rang out full and strong, with a beautiful quality that Yixing was sure translated into an incredible singing voice yet nonetheless rubbed him the wrong way and made him cringe in discomfort. Meanwhile, Jongdae brightened even further (if that was even possible) and his grin stretched just a bit wider.

“Liyin!”

“Liyin?” Yixing frowned, confused as he looked between Jongdae and the beautiful young woman that said his name. Jongdae snapped out of whatever weird haze he had drifted into, the look in his eyes flashing with an emotion Yixing hadn’t seen in them before. He motioned for the girl to join them at the table, wrapping his arm around her waist and tugging her close when she came close enough.

“Yixing, this is Liyin. We’ve been dating for almost two years now. Liyin this is Yixing. He’s that super talented art major I was bitching about the other day that showed me how to make green.”

“Oh,” Liyin smiled a little, nodding her head in a shy greeting. “It’s really nice to meet you. Jong talks about you a lot. How long have you been doing art?”

“Um,” Yixing grimaced, fumbling for words to say, settling on “since middle school. I attended an arts school in China, so I’ve been doing it for a long time.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Meanwhile Jongdae sat there, a love-struck expression (an expression Yixing now recognized for what it was) plastered over his features. “Anyway,” Yixing continued, carefully standing and gathering up the trash on the table, “I have to go Dae. I told Yifan I’d meet up with him later today.” He patted his friend on the shoulder and nodded to Liyin. “I’ll see you guys around!” Never mind that he had just told a bald-faced lie in order to escape or left both Jongdae and Liyin gaping at his sudden disappearance, Yixing couldn’t have been happier to leave. The room felt like it was shrinking and for some odd reason a ball of nausea had settled in his stomach and was currently twisting his gut in a most uncomfortable way. With a gulp Yixing shoved the feeling away, stubbornly ignoring it until he had walked halfway to his apartment and had been gone long enough that the sensation had mostly faded.

 

Later that night he dropped by Yifan’s place to return his friend’s keys. It took Yifan a few seconds to open the door when he knocked, standing in the illuminated entryway in his boxers and an old white t-shirt, the look complete with adorably messy hair and a childish pout. In the background Yixing could hear the theme song of Psych—one of Yifan’s few guilty pleasures—playing loudly, explaining the pout. Yixing must have interrupted his friend’s rare free time.

“I, uh, brought you your keys back?” Yixing danged the key ring off his finger. “You did want these back tonight, right?”

Yifan nodded, running a tired hand through his hair and gesturing for Yixing to come in with a wave and a grunt. Smiling, Yixing stepped through the door, hanging the key ring on a hook as he passed and slipping out of his shoes and into the pair of slippers Yifan kept at the entryway for him. Soft and fluffy cheetah print—Yifan claimed they weren’t the slippers Yixing had used back when they both lived in China, but Yixing wasn’t so sure. They were just ratty enough, and the insides of them worn so thoroughly and familiarly that Yixing’s feet fit perfectly.

“How’s your mom?”

Yifan groaned. “I think at this point she’s more your mom than mine. I swear, we talked for three hours. Ninety-six percent of what she said was about you. And the other four percent was about her new dog.”

“Auntie got a dog?”

“Apparently,” Yifan huffed. “From what I could understand it’s one of those small rat dogs. And please make sure you never call her Auntie to her face. She’s asked you to call her mom so many times. She’d probably cry if she knew you weren’t.”

Yixing grimaced a little, scratching his nape. “It’s not that I don’t like her. It’s just—” he tapered off, the words dying in his throat as tears gathered in his eyes.

“I know.” Yifan pulled him into a hug, running a light hand through his hair. “It hasn’t been that long since, well, yeah. It can’t be easy to call another person Mom, even if legally she’s adopted you.”

“I’m sorry,” Yixing choked, “I’m trying. You’re mom just— she just doesn’t cook the same.” True, there were a lot of other things that weren’t the same either, but it wasn’t because Yixing’s mother was a bad mother. In fact, her cooking tasted incredible, better than his mom’s ever did. But she wasn’t _his_ mom. Yifan didn’t let Yixing go, continuing to rub a hand through his hair as the younger man calmed down. For a second they stood there, Yixing taking deep breaths while Yifan remained silent, letting his friend gather his thoughts. Then the silence shattered with “Gus, don’t be a giant snapping turtle!” and both men laughed.

“I think you’re missing your show.”

“Eh,” Yifan shrugged. “It’s recording. I can start it over. Are you going to be okay?”

Yixing nodded. “I’ll be fine. It’s been three years anyway. I can’t let it hurt forever. I’ll get over it.”

“That sounds,” Yifan paused, appraising Yixing, “super unhealthy.”

Yixing cracked a smile. “It probably is. But it’s what I do. Do you have food?”

“Um, yeah. Anything in the fridge is fair game. Are you planning on sticking around for a while?”

“Mm.” Yixing nodded. “If you’ll let me anyway. My roommate is gone for the week traveling for football, so it’s not like he’s going to bitch me out for coming in super late. Besides, I haven’t really seen you out of class this week. Last time we talked was lunch last week. Do you mind?”

Yifan shook his head. “Not at all. Feel free to grab food. I’m going to go crash in the living room.”

Yixing crooked an eyebrow. “Psych?”

Kris nodded. “Psych.” The two split, Yifan back to his false psychic and Yixing to the kitchen to make himself dinner. A few minutes later Yixing joined Yifan on the couch, a sandwich in his hand, right as Sean walked across the screen with a giant dinosaur head.

“You know,” Yifan began, sounding thoughtful, “that’s actually looks a little bit like Jongdae.”

“What do you mea—” Yixing cocked his neck, looking at the model dinosaur again. “Actually, it kind of does.”

“Doesn’t it though? I swear, that kid has the weirdest face. Nice kid. But still, weird face.”

“Eh,” Yixing shrugged. “I think he’s kind of cute to be honest.”

“Oh?” Yifan turned to look at him, a question dancing in his eyes. “Are you going to go for him?”

“No. I’m not.”

“What?” Yifan looked legitimately surprised. “But you said he was cute, and I swear, you guys act like a couple already, minus the whole thing today where he totally blew you off. What was that about anyway?”

“Oh, he was getting back at me for running into him the other day. And yes he’s cute, but he’s also straight. And in a long term relationship with a really pretty girl.”

“That’s shitty.”

Yixing grinned wryly, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Not really. I mean, a year ago maybe it would have sucked because I would have had time, but now it’s fine. I find out who my soulmate is in literally six days anyway. There’s no point in trying to start a relationship now that isn’t meant to be.”

Yifan nodded. “Oh shit, I totally forgot. You’re October 7th aren’t you? Are you a day or a night baby?”

“I wasn’t born till 11:43 pm.”

“Dang,” Yifan frowned. “So you won’t know who your soulmate is until almost midnight?”

“Yep.” Yixing popped the “p” looking largely unaffected. “I’m not too worried about it to be honest. I mean, if I’ve met them already and I know their name then I’ll get a tattoo and I’ll know who my soulmate is, which means I won’t have to go single to important functions anymore. If not, then maybe I’ll pursue Jongdae. But either way, I’m not making a decision until after my birthday.”

Yifan nodded. “That sounds really solid. Though I hope for your sake you won’t end up like me: I’m twenty-three and still tattooless and single. It gets less fun as you get older you know.”

Yixing punched his shoulder, Yifan letting out a mock howl of pain. “You’re too socially awkward for a relationship anyway. Maye your soulmate is just staying far away to let you grow up. Or maybe you’ve met, but they don’t know who you are because you have practically twenty-seven different names and they never told you theirs. Have you thought of that, Mr. Yifan Kris Kevin Galaxy Wu?”

“Nah,” Yifan grinned. “I don’t usually think.”

 

The obnoxious sound of Call Me Baby, a generic song by the hot new Korean boyband EXO that Yifan had downloaded onto his phone out of spite yanked Yixing from sleep at 11:43 pm on October 7th. To be honest, the last six days had passed faster than Yixing thought was possible. Between Jongdae, Psych marathons with Yifan and all of his classes, by Friday Yixing had been done. One of his professors had assigned a ridiculously involved sketchbook project at the beginning of the week that Yixing had barely finished by the time the class had started that day. So reasonably, by ten o’clock pm on October 7th Yixing was ready for bed. Yifan called at nine, more excited about the prospect of Yixing finding his soulmate than Yixing was himself and talked for almost fifty minutes—forty-nine minutes too long in Yixing’s book. Shortly after Yixing had curled up in a ball, only barely remembering to set his alarm for his birthday in accordance with his promise to Yifan to tell him immediately who his soulmate was.

So there he sat, at 11:43 at night with repetitive electronic pop music blaring through his apartment at an impossible loud volume, bitterness festering in his soul and a growing desire to murder every perfect member in the band with his own two hands. But he didn’t. Because Yixing had a slightly different problem.

His soulmate. Or potential lack thereof. He checked all the obvious places: his shoulder, his back, his chest, his arms, his ass. But he couldn’t find anything. Until he pulled off his socks in a last ditch effort. The he saw it. The name neatly tattooed just above his right ankle.

With shaking hands he picked up his phone, dialing Yifan’s number in disbelief. He heard two rings then a “Hello, Yixing?”

“Yifan?”

“Yixing! Hey! You figured out who it was, right?”

“Um, yeah.” Yixing gulped, inhaling loudly. “There’s an issue.”

“An issue?” Yifan sounded so unconcerned over the phone. “What do you mean?”

“The tattoo. The name.” Yixing gulped again, beginning to feel panicky. “It’s Kim Jongdae. Jongdae is my soulmate.”

“Oh.” Yifan paused over the phone. Yixing waited nervously, kneeling on his couch in anticipation. Yifan cleared his throat. “Well fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a lovely day/night/apocalypse. and please comment :) it feeds me. 
> 
> Jay


	3. TATTOOS

“Yixing.”

“Yixing.”

“YIXING.”

“Huh?”

Yifan sighed, frowning at his friend. He had been like this—spacey and inattentive—for the past week. Ever since he found out who his soulmate was, actually. “You were zoning out again. Didn’t you say that this project was due on Monday? I thought you had to get it done.”

Yixing groaned, letting his eyes linger on the blank paper in front of him. “I do. I just can’t focus. At all. It sucks and I don’t know why.”

Yifan frowned, silent for a second before asking, “Have you talked to Jongdae yet?”

The pen in Yixing’s hand froze, stopping halfway through the first line on the page. Slowly, Yixing turned to face Yifan. “Why would I do that?”

“Um, because you’re friends?” Yifan shot back, “And maybe because he’s your soulmate?”

Yixing sighed, his shoulders deflating like an old balloon left out too long without being popped. “Did you forget,” Yixing muttered, “that he also has a girlfriend, and that she’s gorgeous?”

“Shit.” Yifan grimaced.

Yixing snorted, his shoulders jolting as a cynical laugh forced itself out of his chest. “Of course you forgot.”

“You know,” Yifan began, “you could just tell him.”

Yixing jolted straight up, indignation clear on his face. “Wha-”

Yifan cut him off. “And not in the “I’m your soulmate so drop everything and date me now” kind of way. I’m not saying that at all. More in the “hey, you’re my friend and I care about you, so I figured you should know that my soulmate tattoo is your name and I might act a little odd around you sometimes but don’t worry about it because I don’t want to pressure you into anything” kind of way. Wouldn’t that be better? Open and honest communication and all that jazz. I’ve heard it’s good for relationships.”

“Jongdae and I aren’t in a relationship,” Yixing sighed.

“No,” Yifan shook his head, giving Yixing a flat stare. “You kind of are, actually. Even if you aren’t dating, you _are_ his friend.”

Yixing groaned, slumping over in his chair and banging his head against his easel in defeat. “You’re right?”

Yifan raised an eyebrow. “You don’t sound sure.”

Yixing threw his arms in the air. “That’s because I’m not!” Frustration dyed his tone. “I wish I could be but it’s so goddamn hard now that I know he’s my soulmate. It’s like having a crush on someone who doesn’t like you back but at least 27 times worse! Do you know how many times he’s asked me to hang out with him and his friends? Sure, Minseok and Kyungsoo are cool, but Liyin is _always_ there and watching them together is like standing still while Jongdae slowly and meticulously shoves a barbed dagger into my shoulder blade while pretending to everyone else that he’s giving me a hug. It _hurts_.”

Yifan sat quietly, absorbing Yixing’s words. Across from him Yixing sat, huffing a little and looking forlorn.

“I wish I could tell him,” Yixing continued, “But I can’t. He and Liyin are adorable together, and even if he were single, he’s straight. I’d rather be his friend than have him hate me for not being the soulmate he expects.”

Yifan gaped. “You’re-”

“A coward?” Yixing laughed, jarring and self-deprecating. “I know.”

“No.” Yifan shook his head. “That wasn’t what I was going to say. I was going to ask you if you were serious, but I guess you are.” He grimaced. “That’s shitty, but I can understand your reasoning, even if I don’t agree with it.”

Yixing’s lips split into a grin. “Knowing you you’d probably just barrel into whatever room your soulmate was in and announce to the universe who they were. Which is probably why the universe hasn’t blessed you with a soulmate yet.”

“Hey!” Yifan punched Yixing’s shoulder. “That’s a cheap shot!”

A third voice broke in. “What’s a cheap shot? And can I join in the abuse party, because I’m still kind of bitter about the grade you gave me on my last portfolio.”

Yifan and Yixing froze, slowly turning to face the glowing Jongdae that had just walked through the door. For a moment it was quiet enough to hear the fan in the corner, desperately trying to cool down the AC-less studio. It was almost awkward, but Yifan cleared his throat, his deep voice cutting the silence and saving the day.

“What do you mean you’re bitter about the grade I gave you on your last portfolio? I gave you a great grade.”

Jongdae deadpanned. “You gave me a 78%. How is that great?”

“Well,” Yifan began, a sly smile on his face, “one of your classmates may have messed up my curve a wee bit. But, compared to the class average—which was a 53% I’d like to add—you’re doing very well.”

Jongdae froze for a second, abject horror and downright indignation taking turns flashing across his face, until finally he settled on a look of definite disgruntlement. “You’re grading us on a curve set by Yixing?”

Yifan laughed. “No. I’m not. It’s a funny joke though. I’m actually grading you guys separately, based on your own talent. Yixing has a perfect A by the way. The reason you got a 78% on your last portfolio is because one of your drawings you completely based off of one of Yixing’s, and I’m not so stupid that I missed it.”

“Wait,” Jongdae frowned, is brow furrowing. “Are you talking about the painting with the ribs and the flowers?”

Yifan nodded. “That is exactly the one I’m talking about.”

It was at that point that Yixing zoned out, far too interested in the way Jongdae’s mouth curled up at the corners while he was talking to care about his and Yifan’s silly argument over his portfolio grade. His lips were thin, Yixing realized, but not in a gross unattractive way. Yixing thought they were elegant, lending an air of aristocracy to Jongdae’s face, a curlicue of humor to accent the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the naïve peace in his eyes. For a second Yixing let himself imagine waking up to Jongdae. But then a sharp pang tore through his chest almost leaving him gasping, and Yixing let the foolish thought drift away. Yixing’s soulmate might be Jongdae, but Jongdae was still nineteen and there was a chance—even though it was very very small—that Jongdae might have a different soulmate.

The way it had been explained to Yixing—as he remembered it anyway—was that for every person there were at least one thousand other people in the world that they were hyper compatible with. This hyper compatibility was what the soulmate system was based on. There were no _true_ soulmates—no two people 100% perfect for each other. That was a lie propagated by the media and those in power who knew the truth. Instead there was this hyper compatibility—people between 98.9% and 99.3% perfect together—and whichever two hyper-compatibles met first ended up soulmates. Of course, people generally only met one other hyper-compatible in their lives, so there was little evidence to refute the existence of _one_ true love. However, there was the odd case where someone met two hyper-compatibles before their twentieth birthday, in which case their soulmate tattoo would become the name of whichever hyper-compatible they interacted with most recently before they turned twenty, while both hyper-compatibles could have their name. Then one hyper-compatible would end up soulmateless as the other two paired off.

Of course, Yixing only knew all this because his dad used to work in the government—before the accident anyway. And he wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. The research was confidential, thanks to the general consensus of those in power that it was easier to work with the soulmate system if everyone assumed there was only one Mr. or Mrs. Right for them, instead of one thousand. If it was discovered that Yixing’s father had told his son, he could have been imprisoned.

Lucky for him, Yixing was good at keeping secrets. And he was dead now anyway.

 

It was November fifth when Jongdae finally realized that something about Yixing was off. The catalyst occurred right after their art lab had finished, when Jongdae leaned across his workspace to ask Yixing if he wanted to go to Minseok’s with him for Mario Kart and drinks and Yixing flinched away before he even had a chance to open his mouth. Yixing threw out an awkward excuse about how he had to go wash his paintbrush and hustled away from Jongdae where he sat with his mouth gaping, following the receding figure with his eyes and thinking that Yixing never avoided him like that before. He looked back at his painting—a subpar self portrait painted in a poor imitation of Van Gogh’s style—and sighed. A door clicked shut in the distance as Yixing exited the room.

Yifan watched the exchange with sad eyes. Jongdae sat still for a few more moments before standing stiffly and heading to the sink on the opposite side of the room to wash his paintbrush. He moved slowly, his head tilted as if he were deep in thought. The paintbrush in his hands grew soggy under the stream of water pouring from the sink, yet Jongdae didn’t move for minutes more. The rest of the class cleared out as he stood there, all opting to clean their own materials at the sink by the door. Only after the door shut behind the last student did Jongdae move, turning off the faucet and heading towards Yifan. Meanwhile Yifan scrambled, attempting to cover the painting he was working on—one of Yixing’s—with his own array of papers and pencils.

The stress was beginning to become too much for Yixing, Yifan could tell. Yixing hadn’t noticed it yet, but his hands were shaking, his art was becoming less detailed and his strokes were becoming sloppy. But Yifan had noticed. Now he spent at least an hour after every class painstakingly going over Yixing’s work, correcting lines, adding detail where detail was lacking and ensuring that Yixing’s reputation as an artist did not suffer, even as the artist himself did.

Yixing didn’t have the luxury of becoming distracted. He was at the university on an art scholarship. In China his work was already widely recognized. He had an exhibition scheduled for two weeks away. Yixing couldn’t become distracted, but he was, and now Yifan scrambled desperately to keep his friend’s distress hidden from the world.

“Kris,” Jongdae asked, “is Yixing okay?”

Yifan grimaced. “He’s okay enough, given the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?” Jongdae’s eyebrows raised. “What’s going on?”

“He has a lot of responsibilities,” Yifan replied. “There’re a bunch of internationally known artists coming to his exhibition in two weeks. He has a lot of work to complete. He’s pretty stressed and he’s short on time.”

“Oh,” Jongdae frowned. “I didn’t realize. Is that why he’s seemed so off lately?”

Yifan shrugged, wanting desperately to tell Jongdae that everything he’d said was a lie, and that Yixing was falling apart because Jongdae was his soulmate and every second Yixing spent around him and his gorgeous girlfriend was like a knife being stabbed into his fragile, breaking heart. But Yifan couldn’t do that. It wasn’t his secret to tell, and Yixing would never forgive him if he revealed it. Instead Yifan nodded, giving Jongdae a weary smile. “Yeah. It’d probably be best if you left him alone for a while.”

Jongdae frowned, but agreed slowly. “I guess I can do that.” He bit his lip, regret momentarily stinging in his chest. “But is it just the exhibition bugging him?”

Yifan again felt the urge to tell Jongdae he was Yixing’s soulmate, but refrained. “That’s most of it,” he agreed, the lie bitter on his tongue.

 

Yixing crashed at Yifan’s place two nights later with the excuse that his roommate had brought a girl back and he wasn’t into voyeurism. Yifan let him in, even though he knew Yixing’s roommate was into guys and was more likely to jerk off in the shower than bring one home. Rob was a nice kid and a pretty solid football player, Yifan thought, but just a little too socially awkward and forever cockblocking himself. While Yixing made himself comfortable in his kitchen cooking himself mac n’ cheese Yifan returned to his couch and the final episode of Psych season 4. After fifteenish minutes Yixing emerged holding Yifan’s extra-large Spiderman mug filled to the brim with noodles covered in toxic prepackaged cheese powder.

“Don’t spill that on my couch,” Yifan murmured, is eyes intent on the screen where Juliet dangled precariously from a clock tower.

Yixing grunted in agreement, taking a too big bite and promptly dropping a noodle on the cushion beside him. Yifan swore.

“What did I fucking say?”

Yixing chewed a few more times, then swallowed loudly. “Not to spill on your couch.”

“And what did you do?” Yifan asked patiently.

“I spilled,” Yixing shrugged. “It’s not like it’s an issue anyway. Your couch is bright orange.”

Yifan frowned. Yixing wasn’t wrong. His couch was an appalling affair from the 80’s, a nylon cacophony of yellow and green flowers on a neon orange background. He picked it up off the curb a week after he moved into his apartment his junior year, and it had stayed obnoxiously in his living room ever since. Still, he was attached to his couch. He didn’t want it smelling like mac n’ cheese. But one look at Yixing’s face, relaxed and open—a far cry from the stressed dead look that had recently become his signature expression—and Yifan let it go.

“Is your roommate really banging a girl?” Yifan asked, his tone curious.

“Mhmm.” Yixing nodded, slurping up another noodle. “At least, that’s what he told me. I don’t believe him for a second though. The “girl”,” Yixing snarked, using air quotes, “he brought over looked really flat, and an awful lot like Ren, a junior in my dance class, who’s flaming gay and _definitely_ a top.”

Yifan choked. “Ren is a top?”

Yixing nodded solemnly.

“You’re talking about Korean Ren? The Ren with long black hair and the most feminine looking face I’ve ever seen on a guy? That Ren?”

Yixing nodded again, looking confused. “Who else would I be talking about? It’s not like there are that many Asians at this university. I’m pretty sure we’ve met all of them at this point.”

“He’s a _top_?!” Yifan paled. “You’ve got to be kidding me. He’s like five feet tall!”

“So?” Yixing asked. “Have you ever seen him dance? That guy hip thrusts like a machine. A very well oiled, strong, muscled machine. Trust me. He’s a top. He’s also very vocal.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Yifan asked. Yixing shot him a “no duh” look. Yifan blanched. “Wait a minute! How do you know he’s loud?”

“I also know he’s kinky,” Yixing shot back.

“ _How_?” Yifan wailed, despairing for his precious Yixing’s innocence, even though he knew Yixing had no innocence to lose.

“Because,” Yixing began rather condescendingly, “I like to practice late, when the studios are usually empty. Except sometimes they aren’t, because Ren is also practicing late with whatever victim he’s seduced that night. Ren has a thing for mirrors,” Yixing paused, scratching his head, “and domination. He’s definitely large and in charge. Well, maybe not large, because he _is_ five feet tall, but in charge for sure.”

Yifan spat out the only thought still in his head. “How the _fuck_ did your roommate manage to hook up with him?”

Yixing grimaced. “Ren turned twenty yesterday. His tattoo is on his forearm. Did you know that Rob’s name is actually Roberto? I always thought it was Robert, but no, apparently his mother’s grandmother had a brother named Roberto, so he is also Roberto. Roberto Lewis, what a glorious name.”

Yifan frowned, watching as cynicism replaced the peaceful expression that had settled on Yixing’s face the past few minutes.

“I was the one that introduced them,” Yixing continued. “I’m the only reason Rob’s name appeared on Ren’s arm when he turned twenty. I’m the reason that Ren walked up to Rob in the library and kissed him in front of everyone and I’m the reason that he’s happy with his soulmate now. Why is it,” Yixing’s voice cracked and he stopped talking for a second, sniffing a bit, his mouth set in a firm line. “Why is it that I can make others happy, but can’t be happy myself?”

Yifan didn’t have an answer.

 

The day of the art exhibit dawned in a rather reluctant fashion. Clouds dulled the sky and wind whipped at the faces of students hurrying to and from classes. A rather unpleasant shade of grey lingered on everything. Earlier in the day Yixing and Yifan had worked side by side in the gallery, painstakingly installing each painting and sculpture with incredible caution, careful to ensure they positioned each piece perfectly in order to show the works in the best possible light. Yixing’s favorite piece, a collection of seventeen paintings, all various rectangles creating one large image and broken up by the white gaps of wall visible between canvases was positioned in the middle of the gallery, the focal point of the exhibition. The deep blues and silver accents of the piece contrasted against the vibrant colors of Yixing’s other works, the swirling pattern in the collection drawing the viewer’s eye to its center, where blurry lines suggested a vague figure. Yixing had produced the piece in a little under three days only a week before the exhibition. In Yifan’s opinion it was his most impressive work—the lines were immaculate, the color scheme consistent and the image provoked an undeniable feeling of loneliness. It was also one of the only pieces that Yixing had produced since he learned Jongdae was his soulmate that Yifan hadn’t had to correct. It was a niggling suspicion in Yifan’s mind that Yixing had produced the piece because of Jongdae, and that he was only able to provoke such emotion through it because he felt it so strongly.

The exhibition itself opened at 7:00.

The suit Yixing wore looked very adult and presented him well, but the black material scratched his throat and he felt sweaty. Dignified men and elegant women flitted about the black tie event from painting to painting, occasionally congregating around a piece before scattering again like pigeons do when the cat arrives. In corners he could make out pockets of young people—mostly his peers in the art program and a few classmates—drinking the free champagne and goofing around. A few of them wandered through the gallery, actually looking at Yixing’s work. Every once in a while one of them would approach him, punch his shoulder, say a few words of congratulations and then leave, abandoning Yixing to the critics his reputation produced.

At 7:49 Jongdae walked in.

Yixing wasn’t looking for him, he swore he wasn’t. But he couldn’t help it. Jongdae was hard to miss, in his sleek navy suit and cream dress shirt, a thin tie drawing a vibrant streak of red down his chest. Jongdae had gelled his hair back, a far cry from the mess of curls he usually never touched and his eyes seemed darker than usual, as if he had used a bit of eyeliner. Even his shoes looked classy, and Yixing felt a bit like a creeper for noticing.

But then Jongdae stepped out of the door a little to the left where one of Yixing’s paintings hung, revealing the person behind him. Standing there, breathtaking as usual, in a curve hugging red dress that matched too well with Jongdae’s tie for it to be coincidence, was Liyin.

Yixing felt his the little bubble of elation in his chest pop, leaving behind an empty pang. Jongdae reached a hand out, placing it on the small of Liyin’s back. The action was intimate and loving and Yixing’s heart clenched. He felt like he’d intruded on a private moment, and in that moment Jongdae’s eyes met his.

Yixing recoiled. The look in Jongdae’s eyes stung, full of happiness and love and only directed at him on the sheer happenstance that Yixing had been standing where he had glanced. For a moment he stood frozen, torn between tearing his eyes away and continuing to stare until a small tap on his shoulder forced him to turn away.

Yifan stood by his side, his finger still poised to poke him again. “What are you looking at?” He knew. Yixing could tell. The way Yifan’s eyes traveled toward the front door and the tense way he held his body gave him away. But he didn’t say anything. Yixing appreciated that—that Yifan would let him pretend he was okay and not falling apart on the inside from a glance at his soulmate and his soulmate’s beautiful plus one. Instead he pretended it had never happened. “If it’s not too big of an inconvenience,” Yifan continued, “there’s a pretentious sounding Frenchman here on a business trip who would like to talk to you about a potential commission.”

Yixing grinned. Anyone from Europe counted as pretentious in Yifan’s book. “I’m not busy. I’ll meet him.” Yifan nodded, slinging an arm over Yixing’s shoulder and gently guiding him away. Neither of them noticed Jongdae’s eyes following the two as they left, an unreadable expression across his face.

At 8:00 the gallery dimmed and a spotlight illuminated the makeshift stage that had been set up by the food. A thin, precise-looking woman in a professional black dress with tightly pulled up greying hair approached the mic.

“Welcome,” she began. “I am Bridgette Jenson, the owner of this gallery. I would like to extend my thanks to Zhang Yixing, the artist behind this wonderful exhibition, for agreeing to showcase his work here at Muse. Mr. Zhang is well known in China for his works, and has been recognized on an international stage with installations in the major cities of Paris, London and Lima. Without further ado, allow me to welcome him to the stage.” She turned to the side, where Yixing stood waiting. “Mr. Zhang?” She questioned, indicating to the microphone. Yixing stepped up onto the stage, nodding politely to the crowd gathered about before shaking the woman’s hand. Jongdae stood on the fringe, his face in the shadows with Liyin next to him, her body illuminated by an installation light. Yixing pretended not to notice them, instead shooting Yifan an uneasy smile as he accepted the mic.

“Welcome,” Yixing began, his voice soft and barely tinged with the Changsha accent that appeared when he felt nervous. “I am so grateful to all of you that are here. I would like to extend my thanks to Bridgette and Muse, for hosting my exhibition.” He turned to Bridgette, a slight smile on his face. “It is truly a beautiful space you have here. And also,” Yixing continued, “I would like to extend my thanks to Wu Yifan, who helped create this event.” Yixing shot Yifan a conspiratorial wink and dipped his head in a show of respect. “Many of the paintings you see on the walls tonight, along with the sculptures, are inspired by my time here in America, contrasted by the life I lived in China.  Although I drew most of my inspiration from places, I would like to acknowledge a few people, though not all of them are in attendance tonight, for being my muse. First, Wu Yifan, again. For any piece that has a cocky flair too it—he’s behind it.” The room murmured with quiet laughter. “Next, Rob Lewis, my roommate. As you walk in there as a collection of three paintings, titled _The Wooden Football_ —he inspired them. And finally, if you turn around you will the collection of paintings directly opposite of the stage—seventeen paintings, to be exact.” Every eye turned to appraise the silvery blue swirling artwork with its blurred figure—the lonely image. “This work, titled _Reaching_ , is inspired by Kim Jongdae, a friend I met in one of my classes. I would like to give a special thanks to them for their influence in my life.” A smattering of claps played through the room. “Now, without further ado, thank you all so much for attending. Please, feel free to wander if you haven’t already, or if you have, come talk. I would love to meet you. Thanks again.” And with a little wave, Yixing bowed to the crowed and stepped off the stage. He didn’t see Jongdae’s frown.

It wasn’t until after 10 o’clock that the gallery began to quiet down. Most of the guests had left, with only a few critics and some of Yixing’s peers still around. Yifan approached Yixing where he stood by the food table, chatting with a young woman in a cute yellow dress. He tapped Yixing’s shoulder.

“Yixing?” he asked. “Do you want to wander around a bit, maybe look at the exhibit before it closes up? Bridgette wants to shut the gallery down in about fifteen minutes.” Yixing nodded, politely detaching himself from the girl he’d been speaking to, a short unassuming woman who’d just graduated with a masters in Fine Arts that Yifan recognized as Minzy. Yifan grinned at her, greeting her with a hug she readily returned, striking up easy conversation as Yixing wandered away.

He walked through the entire exhibit, stopping only at the paintings he really liked. A few of them forced Yixing to double-take. The lines looked cleaner than he remembered, as if someone had gone back over his work when he wasn’t looking. He disregarded the thought though. No one he knew would have touched his paintings. It wasn’t until he reached the last room that he came to a stop, awkwardly glancing anywhere but forward once he realized that he wasn’t alone in the room.

Jongdae was there too.

“Yixing?” Jongdae sounded quiet, unsure. The sound made Yixing’s heart pang. Was that his fault? “Did something happen? Are we okay?”

Yixing tugged uncomfortably on his collar, loosening his tie yet still feeling like he was choking. “What do you mean?” he muttered.

“ _Reaching_ ,” Jongdae stated. “Your seventeen paintings? It’s sad.  I looked at the paintings you said your roommate inspired—they were happy, comfortable. And then I looked at the paintings that I thought Kris was behind—they were comfortable too, familiar. But _Reaching_ — _Reaching_ isn’t comfortable at all, or happy. It’s sad—lonely. It makes me feel hollow when I look at it. Why?”

Yixing wanted to kick himself. He couldn’t stand the quiet hurt in Jongdae’s voice, especially when it was his fault.

“I’m jealous,” Yixing murmured, “of you and Liyin.”

“Me and Liyin?” The surprise in Jongdae’s tone was palpable.

Yixing nodded. “You guys look happy,” he grimaced, before spitting out his lie. “I want that.” _I want you_. He didn’t say those words aloud.

Jongdae frowned, still looking unsure. “Is that it?” he asked.

Yixing nodded again, but his mouth stayed shut. Jongdae waited in the room a few minutes more, hoping his enigmatic friend would say something else, but Yixing stayed silent. At 10:33 Jongdae left the room.

He didn’t see Yixing again for almost ten months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lolll I was going to update this every day but then I forgot and now I'm in Spain so I guess I'll just upload all the chapters now. yaaay.


	4. SUMMER

Yixing wasn’t in Art 126 the week after his exhibition.

Nor was he in class the week after that, and artist’s absence made Jongdae worry more than he thought possible. Jongdae sat by Baekhyun and Hani now and spent more time than he wanted to admit staring at the empty easel across the room, letting the idle conversation of the two Koreans beside him flow past him like a mantra. Yixing almost felt like a dream to Jongdae now, even though the exhibit had only been a few weeks ago. The Chinese exchange student had become a fixture in Jongdae’s life that Jongdae didn’t know he’d miss until after he disappeared. Once or twice a thin, black haired Asian that looked suspiciously like Yixing would dart across his path in a knit sweater and navy blue Marmot coat, but he always disappeared before Jongdae could utter a word to stop him. Jongdae even sent texts to Yixing—things like “hey, what’s up?” and “how’re you doing?”, or “were you in the library around 2 today?”—but he never received a response and the texts became fewer and fewer. Halfway through finals week Jongdae stopped trying to contact Yixing and instead settled for the next best thing.

The final for Art 126 was simple. Create a painting on a 4’ by 6’ canvas and bring it in at 3:30 on the Thursday of finals week for peer review. The review itself only lasted for two hours, and it was almost too easy for Jongdae to track Yifan down afterward. Yifan on the other hand had decided that it was far too difficult to avoid Jongdae, and choose to admit defeat, purposefully packing up slowly after the peer review to let Jongdae approach him.

"Hey Kris." Jongdae started, scratching the back of his neck nervously.

"Jongdae." Curt and straightforward.

"Look, um.." Jongdae let his voice trail off, gulping audibly before trying again. "What I'm meaning to say is, well."

Yifan raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Well..."

"I need to meet with Yixing in a few minutes Jongdae. What do you need?" Jongdae stiffened at his words, and Yifan inwardly cheered. He'd known mentioning Yixing was sure to get some sort of reaction out of the kid.

"It's actually about Yixing."

"Oh?" Yifan raised an eyebrow, trying to look surprised.

"Yeah. Um, well. Why isn't he in class anymore?"

Yifan grinned. He knew it! He knew Jongdae missed Yixing. "I told him he didn't have to come."

Jongdae frowned. "What? Why?"

"He doesn't actually need this class," Yifan shrugged, "and besides, after his exhibit he received a bunch of commissions. I told he could skip this class and I would still pass him with an A. He's really busy. Besides, he's still painting, which is kind of the point of this class. He just isn't doing the exact assignments I give. If anything, the work he's doing is harder."  

"Oh." Jongdae stilled. "I see. So that's why he never came back after the exhibit." Yifan watched his student carefully, noting the way Jongdae's shoulders drooped at his words.

"Hey," Yifan grinned, patting Jongdae on the back, "don't worry about it too much. Just send him a text. I'm sure he'll reply once he has time."

Jongdae's eyebrows furrowed. "Are you sure? He hasn't been responding to me at all, and I've texted him more than once."

Yifan forced out a laugh. "Of course I'm sure! Xing always does this." Of course it was all bullshit, but Jongdae didn't have to know that. "Yixing gets so occupied with his work that he forgets anything exists." Yifan let out an uneasy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. His voice raised a pitch. "I have to check on him to make sure he eats. One time I forgot and when I went to visit him later he had passed out on top of his easel. All his work was ruined and his face was stained blue for the rest of the week. Anyway all I'm saying is that him not replying to you at all isn't personal. He does it to everyone."

"Except you apparently."

"Well yeah, I mean of cou--, wait what?" Yifan froze, suddenly noticing Jongdae's facial expression. He wasn't impressed.

"I said, except for you apparently. Seeing as you're meeting with him soon and all that."

"Ohh," Yifan sighed in relief. He hadn't realized his method to get Jongdae to talk could backfire, but this was nothing big. He could handle it easily. "You're right. That's a rule we have, ever since the day he passed out. He can ignore his phone all he wants but if he hears me on voicemail he has to pick up. And if I ask to meet him he has to make time for me. That way I can make sure he doesn't just breathe in paint fumes all day." Yifan looked down at his wrist, pointing at a non-existent watch. "Look at the time. Xing is waiting for me. I have to dash. Later Jongdae!" and in a flash he was gone. Jongdae watched him rush out, frowning a bit.

"But if he's checking Kris" messages," he muttered, "then shouldn't he at least be seeing mine? Why won't he reply?" He alone stood in the art studio trying to discern the reason for Yixing's sudden and complete disappearance until his phone rang—the easy beats of Childish Gambino’s _Sweatpants_ echoing in the empty room.

“Hello? Hey Liyin. Yeah, I’m ready. No, my suitcase is in my room. Yeah, I’ll head over. Okay, I’ll meet you in front of the towers in fifteen. Mhmm? Of course. Ha! Love you too. Of course this will be the best Christmas vacation ever! My mom can’t wait to see you again. Oh, don’t worry about it. I think she likes you more than she likes me! Why would I lie about that? Okay, now you’re just trying to get me to complement you. Yes. I already said I love you. Fine. I’ll say it again. Love you too. Bye.”

Jongdae took he phone from his ear, shooting one last look at the door Yifan exited through. Then he shrugged. He’d find Yixing next semester but until then he had every intention of enjoying his Christmas vacation with his family and his girlfriend.

 

Unfortunately, Jongdae’s plan to catch up with Yixing come second semester was not as successful as he would have liked. Despite his best efforts the thin artist remained impossible to find and any conversation with Jongdae had with Kris to try and wheedle out his friend’s whereabouts always ended in a horribly derailed conversation about _Psych_ or _How I Met Your Mother_. Apparently Kris was a big fan. Jongdae thought it was funny. Liyin hated the two shows—thought they were dumb—so Jongdae never watched them anymore. But that didn’t mean he liked them any less, and if he were being honest he’d admit watching those shows was something he missed about being single. Either way, his attempts to weasel information out of Kris proved consistently unproductive so Jongdae found himself resorting to other methods.

He started with Minseok first, since he knew the redhead would be less likely to question him when he asked to borrow his phone to contact Yixing. That time the Chinese artist did respond to Jongdae’s “hey, wanna hang?” text with a curt “sry min. busy.” Despite the flat refusal it was a _response_ , and therefore still better than anything Jongdae had gotten from Yixing in the past two months. Jongdae frowned. His theory that recently Yixing tried to avoid him was beginning to hold water. He sent Yixing another text from his own phone: “Hey Xing, you busy?” No reply. He waited another ten minutes. Then he waited an hour. Even the next day there was still no answer. He tried to text from Minseok’s phone again, but his redhead friend wouldn’t let him.

“Look Dae, I don’t know what’s going on with you two,” Minseok answered when Jongdae had asked to borrow his phone again, holding his Samsung impressively out of reach considering his short height, “but you guys need to figure it out _without_ using me as a middleman. I like Yixing, and if you fuck up with him I’d rather not have my friendship with him sacrificed as collateral.”

Jongdae could understand his point of view, so of course he abandoned his attempts to sway Minseok and went to beg Kyungsoo for help instead. Kyungsoo’s response came much more immediately.

“Hell no Jongdae. I am not fixing you and Yixing.” He wiped his hands on his pants, staining the jeans with grease as his lips pulled into a frown. He peered at the engine in front of him as if staring harder would suddenly fix it. Kyungsoo—like Yixing—proved to be notoriously hard to get in contact with. However, unlike Yixing, he did answer his phone and it was possible for Jongdae to meet with him—even if that meant that they met in the university’s mechanical engineering building so Kyungsoo could work on his project while Jongdae talked. “Look,” Kyungsoo continued, “I get it. Yixing’s a pretty incredible guy and it’s totally a bummer that he’s not talking to you but has it _ever_ occurred to you that maybe he has a reason? Because Xing has a reason, I swear. And trust me—it’s valid.”

Jongdae ignored the brief spike of _something_ ugly that tore through him when Kyungsoo used _his_ nickname for Yixing in favor of focusing on the more important information. “You know why he’s avoiding me? Why? Tell me!”

Kyungsoo shook his head, grabbing a wrench and moving around the engine to tighten something Jongdae couldn’t see. “It’s not my place to say. That’s something you’d have to hear from Xing.” He put the wrench back, opting instead to wipe off his hands and walk over to Jongdae. “All I can say is this: Xing needs some time. And it’s my job—and your job—to make sure he gets it. So just chill okay. He'll get in contact with you when he’s ready.” Kyungsoo flashed an easy smile and gave Jongdae a firm pat. “I’m sure you’ll see him again before the summer.”

The words should have comforted Jongdae but instead they only strengthened the nauseous empty feeling that had started to grow the second Jongdae realized that Yixing was purposefully avoiding him. His thoughts flashed back to two months ago—Yixing’s exhibit. His words still haunted Jongdae’s memory.

_I’m jealous._

They rang uncomfortably clear. His relationship with Liyin—Yixing claimed to be jealous of it. But Jongdae couldn’t help but question if his relationship was what Yixing truly envied.

_You guys look happy_ , Yixing had said, a pained grimace painted clearly on his face and reflected in the shadowy light of the gallery. _I want that_ , he’d continued. He hadn’t said anything else when Jongdae asked.

So why did it feel like a lie?

 

Nevertheless, Jongdae did as Kyungsoo suggested and stopped trying to find Yixing, deciding instead to hold to the hope that it would be the other who reached out eventually—not him. In a whirlwind of classes and tests Jongdae managed to make it through finals week, almost forgetting the slim-fingered artist who so abruptly vanished. It wasn’t until the Thursday of that last week when Jongdae’s suitcases and boxes had been packed and loaded in his Jeep that an overpowering need to see Yixing again struck him. Jongdae couldn’t deny it. Over the past four months an uncomfortably large, Asian-shaped hole had pushed itself into the forefront of Jongdae’s mind and forced him to acknowledge exactly what—or more accurately who—he missed. Yixing. Something about his smartass, dimpled smile made Jongdae’s chest hurt when he thought of ART 126 and complementary colors and _green_. Jongdae knew he was fucked when _green_ started to make him miss Yixing. So that Thursday, at 3:02, Jongdae traipsed off to Yifan’s apartment to ask about Yixing.

Yifan opened his door with very little excitement and no pants. It took Jongdae a few seconds of staring at bright blue Angry Birds boxers to gather his wits about him and make eye contact. Yifan looked groggy, his face swollen in the way only sleep could achieve.

“Did you just wake up?” Jongdae asked, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.

Yifan snorted, his voice a sleepy growl. “No shit Jongdae.” He reached under his white v-neck to scratch his stomach. “Why else would I look like this at three pm? Anyway,” Yifan opened his door wider, gesturing Jongdae inside. Jongdae sat down on one of the kitchen stools. “What’s up? You here to watch _How I Met Your Mother_ with me?”

Jongdae shook his head. “I’m actually here to ask about Yixing.”

Yifan quirked an eyebrow. He hadn’t heard anything about Yixing from Jongdae in over a month. Something had to be up for his adopted brother to come up in conversation. “What about him?”

“Do you know where he is?” Jongdae fidgeted in his seat and gnawed on his lip. Yifan thought through his question, surprise carving creases in his brow.

“He didn’t tell you?”

Jongdae flinched at the question. “What would he tell me? He hasn’t talked to me since his exhibit.”

Yifan frowned, migrating to his fridge and retrieving two PBRs. He opened both and handed one to Jongdae. They clinked them together and Yifan took a long swig, swishing the liquid between his teeth while he waited for the carbonation to fizz out before swallowing and answering Jongdae’s question. “Yixing is in China.”

Jongdae’s hand tightened around the neck of his bottle, unsure he had heard correctly. “I’m sorry. He’s where?”

Yifan grimaced—because of shitty beer or the question, Jongdae wasn’t sure. “China. You know, big country? Everyone looks the same? Communism?”

Jongdae let out a short bark of laughter despite himself. Yifan was spot on with the high school history class description of China. But why? “Why is Yixing there? I thought. No—” Jongdae paused, his tongue sticking out between his teeth as he thought. Yifan watched. Jongdae continued a few seconds later. “He told me he was going to stay in the states this summer. He told me tickets were too expensive and the visit wouldn’t be long enough to be worth going back.”

Yifan shrugged. “He changed his mind a few weeks ago. Decided he missed China enough to go back.” He flopped down on the couch and slumped into the bright orange cushions. “Yixing’s had a hard life. His parents died in a crash a while back. My parents adopted him, but he never really accepted it. He was old enough to remember what he lost when it happened. Their death anniversary is in a few weeks. I think Yixing wanted to visit them—say goodbye again. He fits in well here in America, but it’s not his home just yet. Maybe once he’s been here as long as I’ve been it will be.”

Jongdae sat frozen, trying to digest the information Yifan had just given him. Yixing was an orphan, and Yixing was in China. So much for seeing him one last time before summer started. Yet for some reason even knowing that Yixing had flown five thousand miles away without saying goodbye didn’t sting nearly as badly as learning of the tragedy Yixing’s family suffered and the grief the artist undoubtedly battled every day. The worst part: Yixing had never told him. Jongdae had never known.

 

Far away in China Yixing sat peacefully on a lawn chair, lazily sketching the calm backyard scene in front of him and blissfully unaware of the secrets Yifan shared across the ocean. He had grown thinner over the past semester—a brutal combination of overworking and the stress of an absent soulmate—but in China he’d begun to feel better. True, maybe flying five thousand miles to avoid his soulmate would be considered a little overkill by most, but to Yixing the choice he made was a no-brainer. Jongdae would not follow him to China. He couldn’t. Therefore, Yixing felt safe in China. The door behind him squeaked open then slammed shut.

“Yixing? Xingie?” It was Mrs. Wu, Yifan’s mother. She was a wonderful woman and Yixing truly loved her, but he didn’t love the nicknames she gave him.

He turned lazily in his chair to face her. “Yes?”

“There’s someone here to see you Yixing darling. One of your old friends!” She let out an excited squeal that Yixing did his best to ignore. At times Yixing felt she tried too hard to make up for what he’d lost but it was all right. He knew she only did it in a poorly directed attempt to fill the gap his parents had left.

“Who is it?”

Mrs. Wu opened her mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by a loud, “IT’S ME MUTHAFUCKA!!!” The older woman blanched as a skinny, effeminate looking man launched himself through the screen door. “The MANLY LUHAAAN is in da HOUUUUSE!!!!”

Yixing stood in a flash. “Lu?” He couldn’t believe his eyes. His old high school friend still looked as pretty as ever, the soft lilac dye in his hair not doing him any favors. “What do you think you’re doing?” Yixing demanded, ignoring his friend’s shit-eating grin in favor of helping Mrs. Wu to the lawn chair. “You’re going to give Yifan’s mom a heart attack!”

Mrs. Wu recovered long enough to smack Yixing’s head. “I told you to call me Mom!” Luhan laughed.

“She looks fine to me man. Come on!” He grabbed Yixing’s hand, excitedly dragging him away from Yifan’s mother and into the house, his voice dropping an octave lower once they had made it out of immediate earshot. “I’ve got this idea.” Yixing rolled his eyes and groaned.

“You do realize that your last idea included Yifan and Jongin streaking through the streets at two am, butt-naked and covered in glow in the dark bracelets right? You almost got them arrested.”

Luhan nodded eagerly in acknowledgement. “I know. This idea isn’t that crazy though, I promise.” Yixing raised an eyebrow, indicating to Luhan that he was listening. The purple-haired man continued to explain, waving his arms around in circles of excitement. “So you haven’t seen Jongin in a while, right?” Yixing nodded in affirmation. “Okay,” Luhan continued, “So he’s got a soulmate now. A chick named Krystal. I don’t know what her actual name is. Jongin won’t tell us and I’m pretty sure their tattoos are in a pretty explicit place because I’ve been looking for his tattoo whenever we go to the gym and I still haven’t found it. I’m considering following him into the shower next time we go. Anyway, moving on. So Jongin heard you were in China again and wanted to come say hi, and then I’ve got this friend named Tao that I think you would really like. He’s young—tall and fit with a face that makes him look like he murders puppies and strings them on his neighbor’s clotheslines for fun.”

Yixing twitched a little at the description and Luhan quickly backtracked. “Not like in a bad way. He’s a total sweetheart. I mean he looks evil, but he’s seriously the nicest person. And he’s terrified of bugs, which is both cute and disconcerting, because no one with a face that terrifying should be able to scream quite at the pitch he seems to be capable of achieving. But moving on, because that’s kind of all beside the point. What I’m really trying to get at is that we’re all going bar hopping tonight—me and kaistal and the panda—and it’d be awesome if you came with. So what do you say? You in?”

Yixing cocked his head sideways. “I mean yeah, probably. But who’s kaistal?”

“OOH,” an unsettling grin that screamed evil stretched itself across Luhan’s features. “It’s Jongin and Krystal’s ship name. Remember that dumb name Jongin used to go by when he was a dancer—Kai?” Yixing nodded. “Yeah,” Luhan smirked. “It’s a mixture of that and Krystal, since no one knows her real name except Jongin and Jongstal and Krysin both sounded stupid. They’re so cute together it’s almost sickening. Like seriously, they’re so sweet that compared to them cotton candy is sour. I feel like I’m about to start puking rainbows whenever they’re in the room. So really you need to come tonight to save me, because I’ve bailed on those two more times than I remember and Jongin threatened to post that picture of me crossdressing from our last night of high school if I didn’t show up tonight. So will you please come?” He stared at Yixing with lethal puppy eyes, a hint of tears welling in the corners.

Yixing huffed. “Fine. If I have to.”

Luhan punched the air. “Hell yeah you have to bitchwad!”

 

Four hours into barhopping found Yixing beyond tipsy and utterly done with Jongin and his soulmate. Krystal was—as Luhan had so eloquently put it just before they walked into the bar—a fucking goddess, and beside her Jongin almost looked plain. On the other hand, Yixing really like Tao. The kid was only nineteen and firmly against the idea of soulmates, something Yixing found both endearing and naïve. Tao claimed to be a part of the blackout movement, and swore he was going to spend his twentieth birthday in a tattoo parlor getting the name that appeared on his skin covered in a thick stripe of black ink. He wanted to find his own love, outside of the soulmate system. Yixing found himself wondering if those in the blackout movement felt pain when they saw their soulmates with someone else, or of their complete rejection of the entire ideal spared them from the pain as well. If so, then maybe Yixing would go before the summer ended and have Jongdae’s name turned into nothing more than a long black rectangle on his ankle. Luhan staggered up to him, throwing a heavy arm over his shoulder with a slurred, “are you having fun yet my famous fucking friend?”

When Yixing didn’t respond fast enough he continued with his eyes glowing with childish excitement and noxious blue liquid sloshing in his cup. “I just learned a new word from that foreigner over there!” He pointed to a tall, perfectly put together white man in a spotless blue suit. “Twat. Do you know what twat means Yixing?” he slurred, leaning his nose into Yixing’s collarbone. Yixing shook his head softly as he disentangled his friend, politely dispensing him in Tao’s arms.

“I’m going to stand outside,” Yixing informed Tao in a matter-of-fact tone, his eyes shining with sincerity. “It is too hot in here and if I stand here much longer the music will make me dance and I haven’t danced in a very long time, so that would be very ugly.” Tao stifled a laugh, the only one of the four to retain any semblance of sobriety.

“Okay gege. Be safe.”

Yixing nodded sagely. “I’m always safe.”

 

The night air soothed Yixing’s frazzled mind more than he had hoped it would. Part of him—the sober part of him—cursed Luhan for inviting him out with the sickeningly in love kaistal couple. They were just another example of what Yixing was missing, and a painful reminder that his own soulmate shared a beautiful love with someone else. The other part of him—the very drunk part—hovered only one or two drinks away from leaving a long emotional message in Jongdae’s inbox explaining their distance and begging for his love. The sober part of Yixing was trying impossibly hard to keep the very drunk part from gaining control. Instead Yixing satisfied himself with picturing Jongdae in his mind’s eye—carefully tracing the curl of his lips and the slight wave of his hair. Yixing stood for who knows how long, drowning himself in the night air and memories of Jongdae’s face, wishing desperately that he had been brave enough that night at his exhibition to explain the meaning of Reaching to Jongdae. His soulmate had all but asked him if he was in love with him, and all Yixing had done was give a half-assed answer about how jealous he was. It still stung to think of. But then he heard the voice.

“Xing?”

Yixing froze, his thoughts tearing from Jongdae to unearth a very different memory of blonde hair, straight lips and hard muscle.

“Yixing?”

There he stood, directly ahead and dressed comfortably in a loose black v-neck and light ripped jeans.

“Sehun,” Yixing breathed out. Sehun, his first love. Sehun, the boy that loved him unconditionally—even when Yixing left him crying at the airport and never looked back. That Sehun.

Sehun looked even better now than he had two years ago. The time apart had been kind to him, filling out his frame and maturing his face. His now black hair hung fluffy and lazy across his forehead, just above the deep brown eyes that examined Yixing with the same care they’d always held.

“I had no idea you were in China hyung. It’s great to see you.”

Yixing stared in disbelief, his lip wobbling a bit at the Korean address, his mind shifting stubbornly back to Jongdae. “Sehun?”

The younger man snorted a bit. “Yeah hyung, it’s me. Sehun. Why do you look so surprised? It’s like you’ve seen a ghost.” Yixing burst into tears that he blamed partly on the alcohol and mostly on the selfless love he _still_ saw in Sehun’s eyes. Sehun froze. “Hyung, what’s wrong?” Yixing didn’t reply. Sehun started to panic in the familiar awkward way he always had. “Hyung? Hyung?! Oh gosh. Oh gosh. You’re crying. What do I do?” He wrung his hands a bit, shooting nervous glances from Yixing to the drunk 2 am crowd and then back to Yixing. After a few mores seconds of deliberation he pulled the whimpering artist into a hug. Yixing almost melted at the comfortable embrace, his sobs coming out harder.

“Come on hyung,” Sehun whispered, running a careful hand up and down Yixing’s back, “let’s go somewhere a bit more private. I’ll make you some tea.” Yixing hiccupped.

 

Somewhere more private ended up being Sehun’s apartment, a modest affair with two rooms, a bathroom, a living room and a kitchen. It wasn’t overly fancy by any means, but still much nicer than most university students his age could afford—testament to his wealthy parents. Photos of seemingly mundane things covered an entire wall. Yixing recognized them as Sehun’s. His ex-boyfriend had always seen beauty in the nuances of life. It was that exact trait that had attracted Yixing to Sehun in the first place. It made Yixing glad to see that Sehun still hadn’t lost that ability.

“Feel free to sit down hyung. My roommate is out with some friends and probably won’t be back till super late, so you don’t need to worry about bothering anyone.”

Yixing followed his direction, sitting down on a suspiciously stained barstool while Sehun busied himself in the kitchen making a hot pot of tea. For a while Yixing was content to watch, the nostalgic side of him ecstatic to bask in the practiced ease that made Sehun still feel a little too much like home. But the other half of him, the desperate sad half that missed Jongdae, wanted to know what Sehun was doing.

“Why don’t you hate me?”

The words rang harsh in the peaceful atmosphere. Sehun stilled and Yixing could see thoughts turning in his head even though he faced away. After a few minutes Sehun turned around, a pot of tea in one hand and two mugs in the other. He carefully placed them on the counter, one red and one blue with matching star patterns—their couple mugs. He placed the pot on a towel beside them and faced Yixing.

“Why would I hate you?” His eyes seemed darker than usual—more intense—and Yixing felt himself shrink under the scrutinizing gaze.

“Because I was awful to you?”

Sehun snorted a bit at the guess, pouring tea into the two mugs and pushing the blue one towards Yixing. “You were, but I don’t mind. Honestly, I’m glad you dumped me at the airport hyung.” Yixing straightened in surprised. Sehun kept talking. “I don’t think I was in love with you then. I think I was in love with an idea of you—with your beauty. You were like my photographs, seemingly simple but secretly breathtaking when I looked at you right. That day at the airport when you left for America you tore your beauty out hyung. I had to find a new reason to love you. I couldn’t have let go of you then. I was so angry. But then I started to think about it and I realized that it wasn’t you I loved, but the image you left behind. But the more I thought about you the more I realized what I had been missing when we were together. Your life has sucked hyung.” The last sentence fell tactlessly, delivered in the deadpan monotone only Sehun could effortlessly produce. But the next words were tender. “Now I just want you to be happy.” Yixing stared at Sehun, shocked by how mature he sounded now, wondering when that had happened. “So tell me hyung,” Sehun urged, “what’s wrong?” And Yixing explained.

For a reason even he didn’t completely understand he told Sehun everything. He described the bet he’d made with Yifan that had forced him into Art 126. He detailed his first meeting with Jongdae and their argument over the color green. He talked about the first time he met Liyin and the sick feeling in his stomach that wouldn’t go away after. He cried over the memory of discovering his tattoo and the name of his soulmate. He grieved for his cowardice at the exhibition and the lengths he went to in order to avoid Jongdae after. He talked about the day when Kyungsoo cornered him demanding answers and how he crumbled into a struggling, heartbroken mess under the short Korean’s scrutiny. He described his sudden decision to spend the summer in China—even though it meant he wouldn’t be able to afford any new art supplies for a few months after—just to get away. He even told him about Jongin and Krystal, and how much watching them hurt, and through it all Sehun sat at his side and rubbed his back, offering him Kleenex when his tears were too much and the snot had built up to the point where he could no longer breathe through his nose. And when Yixing finished Sehun stayed, stroking his hair until he fell asleep, waiting on the couch until his roommate—Tao—returned home to explain his presence. In the morning when Yixing woke—his eyes swollen from crying and head pounding with a hangover—and Sehun presented him with a steaming bowl of seaweed soup and aspirin while Tao watched carefully from the sidelines, texting the frantic Luhan to let him know he’d found the missing friend.

When Yixing hugged Sehun goodbye—with his contact in his phone and promises to keep in touch—he couldn’t help but feel thankful. It still hurt to think of Jongdae, but for some reason, his time with Sehun had made it hurt just a little less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hella unedited cuz I'm lazy as shit.   
> xoxo love you guys <3


	5. SUMMER pt. 2

Summer was a drag, Jongdae decided, at 1 pm on July 12th as he sat in the tiny 4’ by 4’ snow cone shack that he begrudgingly called his summer job. Kyungsoo and Minseok had both gotten internships for the summer—which was expected, given they were about to enter their junior year—but it left Jongdae a little lonely at the snow cone shake where they all used to work part time. As a result, Jongdae had found himself spending unhealthy amounts of time with Liyin and almost equally unhealthy amounts of time with his laptop over the past weeks. He also spent a lot of time texting Kris, swapping pictures of girls in bikinis that approached to buy snow cones in exchange for his Netflix password and the ability to watch _Friends_ in the shack when there were no customers.

Then there were the odd times, between episodes and in the middle of the afternoon, when the sun sat hot and heavy and even the flies were too lazy to move that Jongdae thought about Yixing. He would stare at his phone, his finger hovering over the number while he tried to remember what time it was in China. Sometimes he thought about texting him. He wondered if Yixing would respond. He’d even begin to type a message—something like “Hey Xing,” or “What’s up?” before his thumb backspaced and the message line was empty again. He never sent anything.

Jongdae’s only other saving grace was his new apartment—or more accurately, Minseok’s apartment. Jongdae had been friends with the short red-head business major since before he was in diapers. The two had grown up together, with Kyungsoo appearing and completing their little trio in the second grade. Kyungsoo and Minseok had been living together, but then Kyungsoo found his soulmate—a breathtaking girl named Alice whose vibrant personality somehow managed to balance out his monochrome quiet existence—and he moved in with her. Apparently they were even talking about marriage. Anyway, his moving out had left Minseok with an empty room, and since Jongdae wasn’t a freshman anymore and didn’t have to live on campus it only made sense that he move-in with Minseok.

So now Jongdae spent most nights cooking dinner for an exhausted Minseok. Tonight he’d cooked fettucine alfredo, partly because it was good but mostly because it was easy and Jongdae was a lazy motherfucker. Of course, Minseok didn’t mind when he walked in the door. All he cared about was that there was food to be eaten as soon as he had changed out of his suit and into his sweats. Jongdae thought it was hilarious, the way his pretentious best friend could transform from a business professional to a college slob in 2.7 seconds.

“Noodles?”

Jongdae nodded. “Fancy sauce noodles.”

Minseok lifted the lid off the pot, taking a careful sniff before putting the lid back down, his face fixed with a look of careful deliberation. He opened his mouth to speak then closed it again. He took a deep breath. “I will ignore the fact that you just called fettucine alfredo made with sauce from a Ragú jar _fancy_ if you promise to never insult me in such a way again.”

Jongdae rolled his eyes and snorted, handing a Minseok a spoon to serve himself with. “At least I cooked.”

Minseok snorted right back, “Of course you cooked. You know what happens when you don’t.”

Jongdae snorted, raising his fist to mock-punch Minseok. Minseok socked him on the arm. Jongdae pouted even though he knew Minseok wouldn’t buy it. It was a game they played, Jongdae acting like his hated their arrangement every time Minseok mentioned it. It was a simple deal: Jongdae cooked the dinners and Minseok bought the alcohol. The day Jongdae stopped cooking was the day Minseok stopped sharing the vodka in the freezer. Jongdae would never stop cooking—summer was boring enough as it was without a little liquid fun to lighten it up.

After a few seconds of false bitterness Jongdae broke the silence. “Hey Minseok, are you jealous that Kyungsoo found his soulmate as soon as he turned twenty?”

Minseok frowned, thoughts churning across his face. It took a while before he answered. Jongdae sat quietly beside him, stabbing at his noodles with a fork. “I’m not jealous,” Minseok replied, after a few minutes. “I think I’m wishful? Like, it would be really cool to have what Kyungsoo has, but at the same time I’m okay with not knowing who my soulmate is right now. I’ll meet them eventually, right? Besides, not getting a tattoo right at twenty isn’t abnormal. Almost half of the population doesn’t find their soulmate until twenty-two or twenty-three years old. So I guess it would be nice knowing now because then I wouldn’t have to guess, but at the same time I don’t think I’ll be alone forever. I mean, I’m only twenty-one. I have time.” Jongdae was silent for a while, thinking. Minseok sat quietly next to him, occasionally clinking his fork against his bowl as he ate.

“Do you think Liyin is my soulmate?”

Minseok choked on his pasta. “What?”

“Do you think that Liyin might be my soulmate?”

Minseok swallowed his noodles. “What brought this on?”

“She turns twenty next week you know.” Jongdae frowned, pushing pasta around his plate. “I’m taking her out to dinner.”

“But why did you ask about her being your soulmate? You guys have been dating for years. If you aren’t soulmates wouldn’t you two have fallen apart by now?”

Jongdae shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess. Maybe it’s stupid to worry, but what if she’s not? What if her soulmate is someone else? What do I do?”

Minseok laughed. “You guys are perfect together. Don’t worry. You’ve got to be soulmates.” He wrapped his arms around Jongdae’s shoulders. “And besides,” he continued, “If you aren’t, that just means that there’s someone better out there, for both you and her. And you two are so great together. Can you imagine how amazing a relationship with someone better would be?”

Jongdae nodded along with Minseok, but no matter how he tried he couldn’t picture his life without Liyin in it.

 

One week later found Jongdae and Liyin together at Chen’s Alley, a shady-looking hole in the wall restaurant with the most amazing dumplings either of them had ever eaten. Liyin had asked for authentic Chinese food for her birthday—something strangely difficult to find in a city as large as theirs—but Jongdae had managed to find a restaurant after careful searching and one painfully stilted conversation with his landlady Mrs. Yin. Liyin was missing her grandmother’s cooking—the old woman had passed away in her sleep a few months ago—so Jongdae had tried to find the closest thing to authenticity he could. He’d picked her up at 3 pm and they’d gone to the zoo first, made terrible puns about the monkeys and “hanging in there”, stopped over at the mall for churros and then ended at Chen’s Alley for a little taste of home. So far Liyin had loved it and Jongdae couldn’t be happier with his success. He wanted her twentieth birthday to be special for her and he was certain that with the things he had planned it would be it would be a birthday she’d never forget, especially if the promise ring burning a hole in his pocket came into the equation.

Jongdae had bought the ring a year and a half ago but had never given it to Liyin, thanks to her request that they not give each other anything tangible until after they were certain they were each other’s soulmates. Instead the ring moved around with Jongdae, sitting on his dresser at his parent’s house before moving to his underwear drawer freshman year, then migrating back to his dresser once he moved in with Minseok. It was a pretty ring, something he’d picked out especially for Liyin. He knew she liked simplicity but hated solitaires so he picked a ring that was made of two thin bands with four diamond stones wedged in the gap.   

Of course looking back, Jongdae shouldn’t have been so certain about a few things—primarily his car. The dumb thing, a 2006 Subaru Impreza painted a painfully awkward burnt orange color, decided to give up as soon as they pulled into Chen’s Alley, offering a pitiful phut before dying completely. The next thing that died was Chen’s phone, though luckily he had a charger in his car and the waiter at Chen’s Alley was nice enough to point him towards an outlet. But bad things come in threes, and really, the worst part was what happened third.

It was at 7:33 pm. They’d just received their food and Liyin had bent over to eat. Her shirt, which was already low, gaped lower and what it revealed caught Jongdae’s eye. Jongdae stared. Hard. He stared until Liyin noticed.

“What?” She laughed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Am I so tempting that you have to stare in public?” She leaned over just a little bit more, letting her shirt fall even lower. Jongdae grimaced. What he’d previously see as a tempting invitation tasted sour on his tongue. Liyin’s expression fell a bit, confusion misting in her eyes.

Jongdae rubbed his nose before asking, “Who’s Mark?”

The curl of Liyin’s lips flattened to a straight line. “What?”

“Mark,” Jongdae pressed, “who is Mark Hilliard?”

Liyin stared at Jongdae a bit, clearly trying to decide if he was serious or not. Finally, she answered, hesitation dripping off her words. “He’s someone I work with,” Liyin pushed her hair behind her ear, a nervous tick Jongdae recognized too well. “He just started with us a few weeks ago. It’s my job to train him.” Then she paused. “Wait.” Her eyes hardened. “Where did you hear his name? I’ve never mentioned him before, and you don’t know any of my coworkers very well, so how do you know his name? Have you been checking up on me behind my back?”

Jongdae shook his head, his heart dropping as mind grappled with the situation. “It’s- it’s not that,” he stuttered. “It’s your, your _here_.” He gestured in a horizontal line across his own chest. “Mark Hilliard. He’s your—” Liyin looked down where he gestured.

“My _soulmate_ ,” Liyin breathed out. “He’s my soulmate. This is—” She froze, her gaze raising up from her chest. “Oh Jongdae. It’s not you,” she breathed in a little, as if she herself was trying to catch her breath. The next word out of her mouth came out strangled, almost broken. “It’s not _you_?”

“It’s not.” Jongdae replied, the words dull spilling from his lips. “It’s _Hilliard_.”

The dumplings tasted raw after that, and bland. Even the tea tasted bitter, and the ring felt like a hundred pounds in his pocket.

 

They tried to make it work. They really did. Jongdae offered to let Liyin go to Mark. He knew that he wasn’t her soulmate and that Mark was guaranteed to be a better fit. But Liyin turned him down. She argued that they had been perfect for over three years; even if the soulmate system said there was someone better for her that didn’t mean it was true. They clung to the familiarity like a lifeline. Liyin still folded herself into Jongdae’s arms like she was made to fit there. Jongdae still wrapped a lazy arm around her and kissed the top of her head on reflex whenever she bumped up against him. The still read each other’s thoughts near perfectly, so in tune that either could recognize in moments how the other was feeling and come alongside with a gentle word, a cup of hot chocolate, a warm hug or simple presence.

But soon, their history was the only thing that kept the two of them together. Ideas contaminate like poison and Liyin worked with Mark almost every day. Jongdae knew. It was apparent in the way she pulled away from him while they watched movies, opting to cuddle with his old teddy bear instead of him. It showed in her words, as the pet names slowly died and he became Jongdae, Jongdae, Jongdae. Jongdae felt her slipping away, slowly, subtly, consistently. He hated it. He’d loved her. He liked to believe he still did. But he couldn’t fool himself. Their sudden distance should have bothered him more than it did, but it didn’t. It felt numb, like he had already started pulling away a while ago in his heart, and his head was just now catching up. So instead of being upset he felt almost relieved on that drizzling grey day when Liyin approached him with a proposition.

“Let’s break up.”

Jongdae supposed he should have felt surprised, maybe affronted. He didn’t.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Liyin’s eyes widened comically. Jongdae scoffed.

He poked her nose, a gesture that echoed of a relationship past. “What, did you expect that to be harder?”

Liyin scrunched her face up. “Yeah? We did date for three years.”

Jongdae nodded. “True,” he shoved his hands in his pockets, scuffing the dirt. “Honestly I don’t get it either. I feel like I should be upset, but at the same time I think we both saw this coming. I’m not your soulmate. At some point you would have left me for him.” He smiled a little wistfully, remembering Minseok’s words from earlier. “We were great together right? But your soulmate is supposed to be better. That means your relationship with him will be better than anything you had with me, and I don’t want to brag but I think I did a pretty good job.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously, trying to tie his thoughts together as Liyin watched. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that if we were awesome then you guys are going to be incredible together, and I can’t take that away from you.”

A dumfounded, silly smile spread on Liyin’s face. “For real?”

Jongdae nodded, a small grin of his own curling at the corners of his lips.

Liyin hugged him. “Thank you so much Jongdae.” She buried her head into his chest. “I’m sorry I’m not your soulmate.”

Jongdae hugged her back, reveling in the familiarity one final time before faking a lazy smile. He wasn’t going to miss _her_ per say—in fact he was happy for her and glad they were breaking up—but he knew he would miss the relationship. He hadn’t been single in three years. There would be some serious adjusting happening. “It’s okay. I turn twenty soon anyway. I’m sure I’ll get my own—one even better than you.”

Liyin punched him, mock offended. And then she was gone. Jongdae stayed behind, rubbing his shoulder, wincing but welcoming the slight pain—his last reminder of the girl that borrowed his heart for three years.

Later that night Minseok came home to noodles with Ragú sauce again and a half-drunk Jongdae. “You know,” Jongdae addressed him with an arm flung in his general direction, red wine sloshing in the Spiderman mug Kyungsoo had given him as a “thanks for taking over my rent” gift, “You were wrong. Liyin wasn’t my soulmate. She with some Hilliard dude, someone she works with. And I’m single.” Jongdae took another swig of wine. “This tastes foul by the way.” He took another gulp. “I don’t know how to be single Min. I don’t think I’ll be very good at it.” He took a smaller sip, swishing it back and forth between his cheeks before spitting it back into his cup. “God Min, what the hell is this stuff?” Minseok looked at the counter, where his five-gallon box of cooking wine sat.

“You’re drinking Franzia, Jongdae. You do know we have beer in the fridge right?”

Jongdae snorted. “I don’t think PBR is any better Min.”

In China, Yixing found himself unintentionally mirroring Jongdae’s sentiments when Luhan plopped down a 30 pack of PBRs in front of him with the declaration “we’re getting smashed tonight so that you’ll stop moping silently and will start moping verbally instead because I want you to tell me what’s wrong with you and it’s starting to look like getting you drunk is the only way to do it.”

Yixing sighed. “PBR is shit Luhan.”

Of course, that didn’t phase Luhan in the slightest. Instead he opened two, passing one to Yixing before snarking back, “I don’t see you buying the alcohol here yet you’re still drinking it. So take it and like it. Or go buy yourself pretentious art beer.” He downed his entire can in one go and then grabbed another. “Also you’d better keep up with me because if you don’t there’s some really shitty vodka I bought that has been chilling in my trunk for like the past week I’ll make you drink instead.” Yixing gagged on his drink. Luhan stilled, then turned and drilled him with a dirty look that had Yixing finishing his can in one shot before hurriedly grabbing for another. Luhan grinned.

They were both definitely drunk an hour later, flopped across the couch in Luhan’s living room with their feet in in each other’s faces, empty cans strewn on the floor, and Luhan’s shitty bottle of vodka half-gone on the coffee table. The two had found it didn’t taste half bad once both of them were too drunk to taste anything. About fifteen minutes past Yixing had accidentally made a pun that left Luhan giggling uncontrollably. He hadn’t stopped laughing since. Meanwhile Yixing just laid there quietly, occasionally moving Luhan’s feet when they got a little too close to kicking him for his liking. He played absentmindedly with his phone, turning it off and on again, watching Yifan’s smiling face—his background—wink in and out again and again.

“Hey Lu?” Yixing asked, once his friend finally quieted down. “What do you think of soulmates?”

“Soulmates?” Luhan snorted. “I think they’re a load of crap. Fuck all of them.” He waved his middle fingers in the air. Then he froze, snorting to himself a little before poking Yixing’s arm with his toe. “Did you know that I have a soulmate?”

Yixing jerked up. “You do?!”

Luhan snorted and pushed him back down with his foot. “Yeah, I do. I mean, I am 23. It had to happen sometime, right? Anyway, he’s this tall annoyed-looking kid who’s been carrying around a broken heart for the past year and a fucking-half that he refuses to fix like it’s the most precious thing in the world. Not like hearts don’t get broken every fucking second of the day, right? And he’s got this glorious face that looks like it’s been carved out of marble and this little kid grin that only comes out when he’s doing something he knows he’ll definitely regret. The thing is he doesn’t know he’s my soulmate. Because he doesn’t know me. I mean he knows me. But not my name. He calls me Lu. It’s a nickname. He turned twenty right before you came you know and I thought for sure he’d finally fucking know I was his soulmate, not his bastard good for nothing ex who abandoned him here. But my name is Luhan, not Lu, and apparently nicknames aren’t enough to make the soulmate tattoos show up. And then his roommate is part of the blackout movement too, so what happens if he gets discouraged because his tattoo never shows up and decides to join. What if my name becomes a black box on his skin that someone else touches?” Luhan huffed. “Soulmates are crap Xing, total feces.”

Yixing wanted to cry but instead a strangled laugh tore itself from his throat. What Luhan said was funny in a twisted sad kind of way. “I have one too.”

“One what?” Luhan asked, grabbing aimlessly for the vodka on the coffee table.

“You know,” Yixing gestured at the air before letting his arm flop down at his side again. “A soulmate. It sucks.”

Now it was Luhan’s turn to jerk into a sitting position. “What do you mean you have a soulmate? You haven’t mentioned that ever.”

“That’s because it sucks.” Yixing let out another self-deprecating laugh, taking his turn to force Luhan down with his foot. “You said your soulmate is carrying around a broken heart, right? Mine isn’t. He’s carrying around a completely content, totally in love heart. He’s dating this gorgeous, incredible girl who’s so nice I can’t even hate her and they’re so happy together it physically hurts. I’ve been avoiding him for almost six months because I can’t stand to look at him with her and every time I think about him I feel like a part of me is dying. All I want to do is hug him and apologize to him for disappearing so fast but I can’t because as soon as I do that I have to explain why I disappeared and I can’t because I can’t have him hating me for being the soulmate he doesn’t want. I don’t even know if he’s bi. He could be straight and homophobic and the mere thought of a guy liking him could make him vomit and I would rather have him forget about me than hate me because being ignored is so much easier than being hated. I even came to China to avoid him, even though I’ll probably never see him again anyway since he’s in engineering and I’m an artist. So yeah.” Yixing paused, breathing heavily. Luhan stroked his shoulder in a manner that would have been comforting if he’d done it with something other than his big toe. Yixing took another deep breath. “So yeah, I have a soulmate. But it sucks.”

Luhan tsked. “No wonder you’re a mess. No wonder _I’m_ a mess. I always thought this soulmate thing was easy. You know, meet a person, learn their name, have a tattoo show up, live happily ever after—the stuff they show in movies right?” Luhan snorted. “What a load of mass media propaganda _bullshit_.”

Yixing nodded, agreeing with his friend even as his wished it were different. He looked at his phone. Turned it on, watched Yifan’s face light up then turned it off again. He grabbed the vodka from Luhan and took a swig. He turned his phone on again, unlocking it and opening up a conversation with over twenty-six unread messages. He typed for a second and then turned his phone off again. Luhan gave him a lazy look as he drawled, “Don’t do anything stupid Xingie.” Yixing laughed.

Five thousand miles away Jongdae’s cellphone pinged with an unread message.

_Hey_.

Jongdae saw it in the morning. He didn’t respond. Yixing didn’t even remember he’d sent it.

On August 8th a plane landed at an airport where Yifan stood waiting, clutching a bag of popcorn nervously. Half an hour later Yixing walked through the terminal, red suitcase in hand and a weary smile draped across his lips. Their eyes met and Yixing’s shoulders slumped, relief evident on his face though Yifan didn’t know why. The two embraced. Yifan didn’t tell Yixing that he had invited Jongdae to come with him. He also didn’t mention that Jongdae had turned him down with marble hard eyes and a bitter “I don’t think Yixing considers us friends anymore.” And Yixing didn’t mention Tao or their trip to _Untamed_ , the tattoo parlor Luhan recommended during the night they bared their hearts in a drunken stupor. He also didn’t mention the look of pure regret on tattoo artist’s face or the way the artist’s eyes flickered to his own blacked-out tattoo when Yixing showed him the name on his ankle that made him turn around and walk out the door. Instead Yixing handed Yifan his suitcase in exchange for the popcorn and the two brothers left side by side, talking about anything and everything that they’d done that summer that was nothing important.

Six days later the new semester began and two different students—one artist and one chemical engineer—finally stood on the same campus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are cool.   
> Also apparently in Spain it is not culturally appropriate to pet other people's dogs like it is in America, and my dog is still in America, and I am hardcore missing puppy cuddles right now.


	6. VINCENT

The first week is always easy. It’s the mantra Jongdae keeps repeating in his head, as he goes to engineering and math classes that don’t assign homework and only talk about their expectations for the semester. It’s syllabus week, Jongdae reminds himself, of course it’s easy. He runs into Kyungsoo more often than he thought he would, since their classes are mostly in the same buildings, but Jongdae rarely sees Minseok anymore unless it’s at their apartment. Alice tends to hang around them a lot, leaning on Kyungsoo and being impressed by every little engineering thing he does. At first Jongdae thought it annoyed his introverted friend, but then he began to notice Kyungsoo’s quiet pride whenever his soulmate complimented him and realized that Kyungsoo was only pretending to be huffy, but meant nothing beneath his bluster. It made Jongdae miss Liyin, just a bit, but mostly the way she would lean her head on his shoulder as he did his math homework, oohing whenever he finished a particularly complicated problem. Singleness was still a struggle.

Every once in a while, Jongdae’s thoughts wandered to Yixing, usually when a flustered looking art student rushed by carrying a portfolio so big that it bounced off the ground as they ran. He wondered how the artist was doing. Was Yixing painting more? Did he have an exhibition coming up again? Did Yixing miss him? At one point Jongdae even googled him, realizing that Yixing was much more famous than he had thought. He’d spent a little over two hours hopping down different rabbit holes that night, flipping from one article to the next, admiring the work Yixing had done that was posted online, and feeling jealous whenever he read a post from a fan that had met Yixing in person. He fought the urge to reply to them, saying “You think getting to shake his hand is so great? I’ve been to McDonald’s with Yixing. I even have his number. I could text him any time I want.” His phone burned a hole in his pocket, the text from Yixing he’d received over the summer growing larger and more terrifying every day, each added hour adding another stone to the wall keeping him from reaching out to Yixing again.

It had been weird, receiving that text after so many months of silence. When he’d first read it he’d been angry, bitter that Yixing seemed to assume that he could drop off the face of the earth and completely ignore Jongdae, then randomly text him again and pick up their friendship like nothing had ever happened. But over time as Jongdae became lonelier and his anger towards Yixing faded, he only felt regret. Yixing, regardless of his reasons for playing ghost, had been a good friend. He’d had his back when Kris threatened his grade. He’d taught him how to cook ethnic Chinese food. He’d hung out on the nights that Jongdae didn’t want to do anything other than play Mario Kart and stuff his face with chips, playing Mario Kart right along with him and bringing ice cream over just in case the chips weren’t unhealthy enough.

Jongdae had liked spending time with Yixing almost as much as he’d liked his time with Liyin, but now that Liyin was gone Jongdae felt Yixing’s absence more keenly than he’d imagined possible. It was true, he did have Yixing’s number. He had been to McDonald’s with him. But it was a lie for Jongdae to say he could text Yixing whenever he wanted. It had been too long between them for Jongdae to reach out that easily and pretend like they’d never stopped talking at all; he was to hurt from being ignored and too confused by Yixing’s simple “hey.”

 

Once, in the second week of school Jongdae asked Kris about Yixing.

“How’s he doing?” he’d mumbled, forming the words around a bite of sandwich as he leaned against Kris while they lazily watched another episode of _How I Met Your Mother_. Their bro nights had moved to Jongdae’s apartment ever since summer ended and Yixing moved in with Kris.

Kris shoved him away and reached out to lower the volume. “First off, close your mouth when you chew. I can see your food and it’s disgusting. Second, who are you talking about?”

Jongdae finished chewing, swallowed, took a sip of his coke, wiped his mouth and then asked again. “Yixing. How’s he doing?”

“Yixing?” Kris frowned at his pastrami. “I didn’t think you guys were still talking.”

Jongdae grimaced. “We’re not.” He pulled a pickle out from between the turkey and swiss on his sandwich and tossed it across the room, barely missing the trash can. The pickle slid down the wall, leaving behind a shimmering trail of green tinged slime. Jongdae cringed. Minseok would nag his ear off for that later. “That’s kind of why I asked. I mean, I can’t really call us friends anymore, but I really liked hanging out with him. Honestly, I miss it. I just don’t really know how to get in contact with him anymore.”

“Oh,” Kris hmmed a bit, bobbing his neck a bit as he finished chewing. “Well,” he answered, taking a sip of orange soda, “He’s okay. Busy you know, since he’s an art student. Plus he’s got a few commissions he needs to complete in the next few months. He’s working a part-time job somewhere too, not quite sure where. He wouldn’t tell me.” Kris laughed a bit, a nervous tense kind of laugh, “I probably shouldn’t even be telling you this, but honestly, Yixing’s exhausted. But he keeps on working and painting and going to school as if he’s perfectly fine. I don’t know what to do. I’m worried about him.”

Jongdae frowned, “Why shouldn’t you tell me that?”

“You said it yourself, didn’t you?” Kris asked, turning his head to make eye contact, “You and Yixing aren’t really friends anymore.”

“But that doesn’t mean—”

“Look,” Kris cut him off. “It’s not like it’s against the rules or anything for me to talk about Yixing, but at the same time, what good will it do? Even if he’s having a hard time you can’t help him. What difference does knowing or not knowing make then, if you won’t even talk to him?”

Jongdae groaned, slamming his hand down on the carpet beside him. “I don’t know.” His voice lowered to a mutter. “I don’t _know_.”

Ten minutes later the episode playing ended. Kris left shortly after. Jongdae watched him go, his back hunched against the cold. Kris tried to pretend that he couldn’t see Jongdae’s hurt expression as he left, and felt like shit.

 

Something was wrong. It was the very first thing Yixing noticed, stepping through the front door of the apartment to find Yifan strewn across the floor, empty beer bottles stacked tall to look like a glass Christmas tree at his feet. In his hand, he clutched a bottle of tequila, barely started, that he appeared to be drinking straight. For a moment, Yixing wondered if he should ask Yifan what was going on, but the thought quickly disappeared in favor of a better idea. He disappeared into the kitchen, exchanging his shoes for slippers as he went. It took a moment of rummaging through drawers and poking about in the pantry, but eventually Yixing found what he was looking for—a lime. The salt was easy, sitting on the counter where it always was. Yixing grabbed both and went back to the living room to join his drunk brother.

“That can’t be good straight.” Yixing commented, placing down a slice of lime and the salt shaker. “Want to do a few traditional shots with me?”

It took a few seconds, but Yifan eventually let his head roll back and to the side, making eye-contact. He looked at the lime, then back at Yixing, then back at the lime. “You’re a real bro,” he remarked, reaching out to take the salt and lime off the table.

Yixing tutted. “Aren’t you going to pour me a drink first?” He stared pointedly at the empty shot glass by Yifan’s elbow.

Yifan looked up at him, water pooling in his eyes, his lip trembling dangerously and his hands clenched tight. “But why’re you getting drunk Xing? You don’t need to get drunk?” He straightened up, his pointer finger swaying in the air. He nailed Yixing with a red-eyed stare, leaning forward to stab him with the finger he’d been waving around. “Don’t drink,” he commanded. “Drinking is bad for you.”

Yixing snorted. “Not very convincing words from the man who’s made a sculpture out of empty beer bottles Yifan. Come on,” he wheedled, reaching past Yifan to grab the glass on the table and pouring his own shot, “you have to at least let me catch up to you a little bit.”

Yifan didn’t respond, and Yixing didn’t push. Instead he drained his shot glass, refilled it, drained it again, then refilled it for a third time. Tequila burned like hell and Yixing hated it, but he hated watching Yifan drink alone even more. Yifan reached for the bottle, and after a split-second hesitation Yixing handed it over, watching as his older brother wrapped his fingers around the slim glass bottle, pouring a shot with concentration Yixing usually only saw when he was working on of his sculptures. He picked up the salt shaker, unscrewed the cap and poured salt into his palm. He gave half the salt to Yixing, gesturing for him to eat it before licking up his own handful. Yixing followed suit and both downed their shots. Yifan bit the only lime slice. Yixing winced.

They sat like that for a while, occasionally taking shots, mostly just listening to the tinny voices of John Bellion and Troye Sivan playing through the speaker on Yixing’s phone. Sometimes Yifan sang along, his voice louder than necessary and horribly off tune. He was too drunk to know. Yixing was drunk enough not to care. At some point, they put away the tequila, over two-thirds of the bottle gone between them, and turned on _Supernatural_. They only watched the show when they were drunk, hopping around the room to fight off pretend monsters. Yifan played Dean and Yixing, Sam. Together, they defeated a demon. Then they rested—the tv dark in front of them—both panting hard.

“You know,” Yifan said, breaking the silence after a few minutes, his words slurring together, “you look like shit Xing.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Yifan nodded. “Like shit.” He reached over to pat Yixing’s hair. “You don’t sleep. You don’t eat. You have like a billion commissions to complete and now you’re even working a part-time job at god knows where even though you don’t need to. It’s like you’re falling into pieces in front of me.”

“So?” Yixing asked, dangling his shot glass between his fingers, briefly considering reopening the tequila bottle.

“I told Jongdae,” Yifan remarked. Yixing stilled, suddenly remembering cheshire grins and sharp cheekbones. “And when Jongdae got worried about you I ripped him apart.” Yifan sniffled. “I’m sorry.”

“Wait, backup,” Yixing paused, trying to think through the haze of alcohol. “What did you tell Jongdae?” He tried to ignore the way his heart sped up.

Yifan snorted. “I told him that you looked like shit. He should know. It’s his fault.”

Yixing didn’t respond, too distracted by the way his mind conjured up images of Jongdae—Jongdae laughing, Jongdae trying to paint, Jongdae stuffing a hamburger in his mouth. All it took was a second and just a little bit of alcohol, and Yixing forgot about Liyin, forgot about running away to China, forgot about the pain he felt every time he saw Jongdae. Instead he saw his soulmate, and he missed him.

In the morning Yixing woke up on the bright orange couch, thought of Jongdae, and remembered why it hurt again.

 

Jongdae hurt too.

It hadn’t been obvious at first, when he and Liyin first broke up, but now it was. Jongdae was lonely. Even Minseok—his oblivious roommate—had noticed and had begun doing random nice things for him.

“Here Jongdae,” his roommate said, plopping down a steaming cup of god knows what in front of Jongdae. He reached out for it, appreciating the way the warmth bled into his hands, even through the paper sleeve. “There’s a new coffee shop that just opened up this summer and I finally managed to snag a second to go try it. It’s amazing. I love it. Even better, the prices are good and it’s close to campus and it’s got a relaxed art vibe to it that makes it really nice to study in.” Minseok grinned, “But here’s the best part, they use really high quality beans. Their Guatemalan roast is almost guaranteed one of the best drip coffees I’ve ever drank. Anyway,” Minseok grinned even wider, “I got you a drink. Try it!”

Jongdae picked up the cup, barely tonguing at the lid, unsure what to expect. However, with Minseok looking on so excitedly, he couldn’t very well refuse so he reluctantly took a sip. He expected some variation of bitter mud to coat his taste buds, since Minseok was a coffee man through and through, but instead he found himself surprised by the spicy flavor of tea mixed with milk—a chai latte. In addition, it was _very_ good. Whoever the barista had been, their ration of chai to milk was near perfect, with just enough nutmeg sprinkled on top to really bring out the flavor.

Jongdae nodded to Minseok, a little bit astonished at his roommate’s ability to buy him a good drink. “Thanks man.”

Minseok shrugged him off, pulling off his shoes and heading to his room. “Don’t thank me,” he called over his shoulder, “I got your drink for free from the barista. Nice guy—said he knew you? He was curly haired, Asian, had a bit of an accent. Sound familiar? Anyway, he knew who I was—made a drink for you and asked me to give it to you.”

Jongdae choked, jerking to his feet and following Minseok into his room. “Did you know him?” Minseok nodded, shimmying out of his slacks and into sweats. Jongdae gaped. “Then why won’t you tell me who it was? Did you even know what the drink was? What if it had been poisoned!”

Minseok rolled his eyes. “First off Jongdae, I don’t want to tell you who the barista is and you’re clearly fine. You’re not poisoned, and from the looks of it,” he gestured to Jongdae’s mostly empty cup, “you enjoyed your drink. Second,” Minseok finished unbuttoning his dress shirt, shrugging out of it and wandering over to his drawers to search out a comfortable t-shirt, “I understand I’m gorgeous and you’re jealous of my abs, but stop watching me change.” He pulled out a grey shirt and tugged it on. His lips curled into a predatory grin and Jongdae knew that whatever was about to come out of Minseok’s mouth next, he wasn’t going to like.

“If there’s anyone you should be creeping on,” his roommate waggled his eyebrows at him, brushing past to get to the kitchen, “it should be that barista. _He’s_ cute.”

Jongdae punched him.

“What the _hell_ Min?! I’m not even gay!”

Minseok cackled, cracking open a can of PBR. “How do you know? Maybe you swing both ways and just don’t know it yet.”

 

Jongdae fought it for a little over a week, but eventually, his curiosity became too strong. He had to find out who the barista was that Minseok had gotten his coffee from. And so, one sunny Monday after all his classes ended, Jongdae ducked into the coffee shop Minseok had talked about. He noticed the art first. It was everywhere—incredible paintings, all in the style of Vincent van Gogh. Jongdae chuckled a bit, appreciating the connection between the name of the coffee shop— _Vincent_ —and all the art inside. Jongdae noticed the balcony next. The coffee shop had a second level, full of chairs and tables from what Jongdae could see. A few people sat up there, working on laptops or reading textbooks. Minseok was right; it looked like a great place to study. But nothing compared to what Jongdae noticed third.

Yixing.

Behind the counter. With a brown apron wrapped around his waist. His hair had grown longer than Jongdae remembered it and his face seemed thinner, but he was smiling. Suddenly all the art on the walls felt familiar, and for a minute Jongdae did nothing but stare, reveling in the dimple on Yixing’s cheek and the way his thin fingers danced across the espresso machine and dragged the thermometer through the crème of the drink he’d made, creating a perfect flower in the latte. The girl who’d order the drink blushed when she took it from his hands. Yixing, Jongdae realized, for the first time, was beautiful, and Jongdae was terrified.

He’d wanted to meet Yixing again, true. But not here. Not now. Not when he had twenty-seven different apologies and regrets and wounds stuffed inside him, all jumbled up, not yet ready to be spoken aloud. Then a thought occurred. Had Yixing been the barista who’d given Minseok free coffee? Jongdae froze while a fresh wave of terror washed over him, wondering suddenly if Yixing ever thought of him.

“Hi! How can I help you?”

Yixing’s voice. Jongdae held his breath as he watched Yixing look up, make eye contact, realize who he’d spoken to. For a split second, not even the bat of an eyelash, his smile dropped. Jongdae almost missed it—the lightning quick way the crinkles around Yixing’s eyes smoothed before wrinkling up again, plastic-feeling.

“Jongdae.” The name sounded like poison, Yixing’s voice pinched and oddly monotone.

It made something in Jongdae crack—he wasn’t sure if it was his heart or his resolve—as Yixing stared on, face blank like stone. It was then that Jongdae understood that something between them was well and truly broken.

It’s unsure what gave it away in the end. Maybe it was the tightness of Yixing’s smile, or the slight tremble in his hands. Perhaps it was the odd stiffness of his posture. No matter what it was, Jongdae knew, like a sinking, sick feeling in his stomach. It wasn’t a surprise when Yixing turned his back and walked away, replaced by a liberal looking girl with vibrant blue hair.

“Hi!” She was bubbly, her voice overflowing with enthusiasm. “I’m Marlene. What can I get for you today?”

Jongdae gaped. He didn’t have a response. His eyes followed Yixing’s hunched shoulders, forgetting to reply. Marlene followed his gaze.

“Ah,” she said, ignoring his distraction. “How about a lottery then?”

“A lottery?” Jongdae asked.

“Yeah!” Marlene grinned at him. “It’s one of our drinks. The lottery. You pay us $2.50 and then we make you a medium-sized surprise drink. They can get pretty weird. Like one time one of our coworkers made a lavender and honey hot chocolate. They generally taste pretty good though, and if you hate it you can bring it back and we’ll make you something else. Want to try it?”

Jongdae nodded, distracted by the sound of breaking glass. Yixing emerged from the back with a grimace.

“I broke another wine glass.” Marlene didn’t comment.

She turned back to Jongdae. “Credit card please?”

Jongdae handed her his card, still not making eye contact.

“And here you go.” She handed it back. “Would you like to leave a tip?”

Jongdae looked at the iPad she’d spun to face him, absentmindedly selecting the 40% tip option. The cost changed to $3.50. He didn’t notice. Marlene spun the iPad back around and smiled at him. “Go stand over there.” She gestured over to the end of the bar. “We’ll call your drink for you when it’s done.”

“Ah.” Jongdae nodded, shuffling away. Marlene watched him go.

Jongdae kept his eyes on Yixing, watching as Marlene—her blue hair was so bright—approach the artist and say something too him. Yixing nodded, and Jongdae thought that his face looked more relaxed. It made something clench, that seeing Jongdae had been what upset him and talking to some girl was what calmed him down. Marlene rested her hand at Yixing’s back and the artist slumped into her, listening as she whispered else something to him, nodding when she finished speaking. She pulled out a band-aid and wrapped it over Yixing’s palm—Jongdae hadn’t even noticed Yixing was bleeding—then gave him a hug, patting him twice on the back for good measure.

Jongdae tried not to acknowledge the niggling feeling of celebration in his gut when Yixing moved away from her and back to the coffee machine. He turned away, choosing to look at the art on the walls instead of watch Yixing talk to Marlene again. It wasn’t that he was jealous, Jongdae wouldn’t admit to that. He just felt uncomfortable. That was all. And awkward. It had been so long of course he felt awkward.

A few minutes later Marlene yelled out, “Lottery for Jongdae!”

When he took his drink from her she smiled. “I hope you enjoy it,” She said. “Have a good rest of your day.” Jongdae resisted the urge to tell her to stuff the rest of the day up her ass. He couldn’t understand why her smile made him feel so angry. He shuffled to a table set against the window. The sun filtered in just right, illuminated the little spot.

Jongdae let out a heavy sigh as he sat, reveling for a moment in the warmth of the afternoon light. He stared at his drink—coffee, tea, water, who knew—and took a hesitant sip. He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t the spicy flavor of tea mixed with milk—the ration of chai to milk near perfect, with just enough nutmeg sprinkled on top to really bring out the flavor. A chai latte. Or more exactly, a chai latte the same as the one Minseok had brought home.

Jongdae looked over at the bar where Yixing stood taking orders. Marlene worked nearby making another drink. Jongdae took another sip, watching as Yixing turned around to say something to Marlene, laughing when she said something back, reaching out to poke her side, Marlene giggling as she danced away. Suddenly, his drink didn’t taste so good anymore. Yixing walked into a wall. Jongdae jolted, torn between making sure he was okay and staying seated, but Marlene beat him too it. She was at Yixing’s side again, with that same annoying smile and frustrating way of making Yixing laugh.

Jongdae stood and walked out the door, throwing his cup in the trash as he left.

 

That night when Yixing went home he walked through his front door and into Yifan’s room, taking off his shoes as he went. It was barely eleven, and Yifan wasn’t asleep yet even though he was in bed. Yixing curled up beside his brother, maneuvering into Yifan’s arms.

“I work at a coffee shop,” he said. “That’s my part time job.” Yixing stopped talking, instead cuddling even closer. Yifan stayed silent, waiting for Yixing to continue, and after a while he did. “I saw Jongdae today. He came to the coffee shop. I couldn’t even take his order, I was so distracted. Marlene—one of my coworkers—had to do it for me. And then I broke a glass and walked into a wall and yeah.” Yixing trailed off, shifting onto his back and reaching out toward the darkened ceiling. “I guess I forgot how much it hurts to see him,” he muttered.

Yifan wrapped an arm around his brother and hugged him close. “I’m sorry Xing.”

“I just wish I knew,” Yixing mumbled.

“Knew what?”

“When his birthday was.” Yixing let his hand drop, covering his face. “Then I would know when to stop hoping.”

Yifan didn’t respond, and only held Yixing tighter. They stayed like that for a while until Yixing fell asleep. Yifan slowly detangled himself for Yixing and left the room, hunting for another pillow. He frowned when he returned, pausing for a minute to wipe the away the wet tracks of tears on Yixing’s face. He smoothed Yixing’s hair back and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“I wish it were different Xing,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst is addictive.   
> also posting things is so hard on AO3, especially since I'm used to AFF, but it's so much easier to read on AO3 so I'm like never on AFF except to post anyway and basically I am an unloyal millennial killing the fanfiction industry.


	7. BIRTHDAY

It was thanks to Minseok that Jongdae remembered that he would still have a soulmate, even if it wasn’t Liyin. He’d forgotten, in the middle of classes and working and learning how to watch Liyin and Mark walk by without ducking behind a corner or hiding under a table or turning his back so he wouldn’t have to see them in love. After a while it got easier. At least, that’s what Minseok told him.

Minseok told him a lot of things. He told him to brush his teeth in the morning when Jongdae forgot. He told him to remember to take his laptop with him to class. He told him to come home early on Thursday, because he had a surprise for him.  

Frankly, Jongdae didn’t know if he was looking forward to or dreading Minseok’s surprise.

His roommate had a way of planning well-intentioned surprises that usually ended in absolute horror. Like the one time Minseok tried to throw a Christmas party freshman year. Somehow it had evolved into a mad dash through campus in full streaker fashion, Jongdae and all his friends completely naked with the exception of their left socks. The police had been called that night. Jongdae had barely escaped with his skin and his sock was left behind, a sad affair of red and blue stripes on the sidewalk.

Understandably, Jongdae was a little nervous when he arrived back at his apartment early on Thursday. He stuck his head against the door, hearing voices inside. Minseok’s voice was the most obvious, ringing clearly over everything else. Jongdae thought he heard faint jazz playing, and briefly wondered if Kris was there. The tall man was a rather unexpected fan of jazz, when he wasn’t listening to Taylor Swift and Ariana Grande.

Jongdae turned the door handle, surprised to find it locked. From inside he heard a suddenly flurry of noise that quickly grew quiet as he pulled out his key and began to fumble with the lock. He turned the key the wrong direction a few times before finally getting it right, opening the door into a completely dark apartment. Jongdae walked in, tried to turn the lights on but found the light switch wouldn’t work. Then a bang. The lights flooded on and Jongdae found himself being assaulted by balloons, a dozen voices screeching their congratulations, and one very disgruntled cat. Apparently Kyungsoo had decided to bring Mittens along. Mittens appeared rather upset by the whole ordeal. Jongdae could relate, just a little bit.

“Happy early birthday!” Minseok screeched, setting off one of those tiny confetti poppers in Jongdae’s face. A strip of thin yellow paper settled on Jongdae’s nose.

“Uh, thanks?”

“Sorry,” Kris grinned, coming up beside him. “This is all Minseok’s idea. He kind of forced all of us to come here.” He handed Jongdae a beer. “But on the bright side, he bought a _lot_ of alcohol. So, it should be a good night.”

Jongdae accepted the beer gratefully and took a swig. “Thanks. Alcohol will be necessary.”

“Oh?” Kris raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Have you ever been to one of Minseok’s parties before?”

“No.” Kris frowned. “Should I be scared?”

Jongdae laughed. “Maybe a little.”

“JONGDAAAE.” Jongdae and Kris turned around to greet Minseok, who swaggered up in his customary sweatpants and t-shirt, a fluffy pink feather boa wrapped loosely around his neck. “My friend, my roommate, my love.” He flopped against Jongdae’s side, rubbing his face against Jongdae’s shoulder. “Happy birthday buddy. I mean almost. Tomorrow. And then you can stop moping around.” Minseok shoved himself off Jongdae and onto Kris. He looked up at his tall friend. “Jongdae _has_ been moping around lately, right?” Kris nodded in agreement and Jongdae felt slightly betrayed.

“I don’t mope,” he muttered, taking another drink.

“Eh, yeah you do,” Minseok grinned, ribbing him good-naturedly in the side. “Ever since Liyin and Mark got together, right? I told you man, you’ll get an even better soulmate.” Minseok took a drink of some blue concoction he had sloshing around in his cup. Jongdae had a sneaking suspicion that Kyungsoo had made one of his fishbowls again. Those things were murder when it came to alcohol content, delicious, and a little too easy to drink. “You’re basically twenty already,” Minseok continued. “Just give it a few more hours and then you’ll be waltzing around all over again, hearts in your eyes, poems spewing from your lips, the works.” He nudged Kris, “Right? I’m totally right.” Jongdae decided Minseok had already drunk enough, before realizing what Minseok had said.

His roommate, drunk or not, was right. Assuming he’d already met his soulmate, there’d be a name on his skin somewhere by the end of the next day and technically, he wouldn’t be single anymore. Maybe. If he knew who they were. He could end up like Kris, twenty-three and still tattooless. He decided not to think about it, at least for the night. He took another drink of his beer and decided to go find Kyungsoo, leaving Kris and Minseok behind, the two both busy discussing the logistics of opening up a gallery.

Kyungsoo was in the kitchen with Alice, combining strawberry vodka and lemonade. Jongdae resisted the urge to make a snarky comment about strawberry lemonade, instead slinking up behind Kyungsoo to rest his chin on his head. Kyungsoo swore.

“What the fuck!” he whirled around, vodka bottle raised. When he saw Jongdae he took a deep breath. “Dae. What the hell. I hate that.” Alice giggled behind him.

Jongdae shrugged. “Sorry. It’s fun.”

Kyungsoo turned pouting to Alice, who was still laughing. “Why aren’t you defending me?”

“It’s just,” she giggled, “really funny to see you get all huffy. You’re really cute when you do that.” Kyungsoo flushed an embarrassing shade of red. Jongdae wisely decided not to comment, instead returning to the kitchen to ladle out more of the punch Kyungsoo made for himself.

 

In hindsight, the whole hellish affair stemmed from Baekhyun and his teaching internship, though really, it was Minseok who truly deserved the blame. Baekhyun, a teaching major, had been talking to Hani, Junsu and Minseok about his internship at one of the local elementary schools, complaining about how rowdy his first graders got during recess. Minseok had started to wax poetic about how much he missed his childhood and the innocent years, moaning to every which person about how much he just wanted to be a _kid_ again. Not even twenty minutes later Junsu—the most sober one—found himself driving everyone in his truck to Home Depot, arriving under an hour before it closed, so that Minseok could buy himself a playset.

Had Jongdae been sober he would’ve been ranting about the stupidity of drunk purchases and the stupidity of Minseok in general, no doubt driving his roommate crazy. Fortunately for Minseok, Jongdae was not sober. 

“Let’s get this one,” Minseok said, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, pointing at a playset complete with a tire swing, normal swings, a sandbox, and three slides. A Home Depot employee watched nervously from the side, rubbing her hands together like a person in pain.

“That might be a little big,” Kris remarked. “Where are you even going to put this Minseok?”

“In my apartment.” Minseok spun around to face Kris, hand on his hip. “Duh.”

Baekhyun laughed. “Duh,” he repeated, giggling uncontrollably. “Because like, where else would he put it?” His giggles were contagious. Hani joined in, leaning heavily on Junsu—who watched the whole thing with a type of horrified fascination.

“Maybe,” Kris suggested, as if the size of Minseok’s playset was the most serious thing in the world, “you should find something smaller.”

Minseok paused, looked at the playset again, his brow furrowing. “You know,” he said, pointing absently at Kris, “you might be right.” He walked down the row, inspecting his other options. He halted in front of another, smaller playset, with only one slide, two swings and a net he could use to climb up into the little house portion of the structure. “What about this one?” he asked.  

“That one is good,” Kris nodded.

“What do you think Dae?” Minseok asked. “It’s your birthday after all.”

Jongdae frowned. He walked around the playset a few times. He pushed on the slide. He tugged on the net. “It’s good,” Jongdae said. “You should get in Min.”

Minseok nodded. “Okay.” He leaned backwards, looking for the nervous employee. “Excuse me, Employee-Lady?” She shuttled forward. Minseok grinned. “I want this one!”

 

They drove back to Minseok’s apartment singing. Or at least, Minseok and Baekhyun sang. Jongdae sat with Kris in the cab, both beginning to nod off just a little, while the rest suffered in the truck bed. By the they got back to Minseok and Jongdae’s apartment and managed to get the various parts of the playhouse up the stairs and into the living room, it was past eleven, people were beginning to sober up, and Jongdae was _tired_.

“I think I’m going to go to bed Min.”

“What?” his roommates spluttered. “What do you mean? You can’t go to bed! We haven’t even set up the Playtime Place yet!”

“Playtime Palace?” Jongdae raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

Baekhyun cackled from where he stood mixing another bowl of jungle juice, yelling across the room, “That’s what he’s calling it while he’s drunk!”

Hani snorted. “We should paint it on. That way no one can change the name.” Junsu wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his chest and quietly shushing her. Jongdae appreciated him keeping her from giving Baekhyun anymore ideas.

“Min,” he nudged his roommate again. “I’m going to bed. For real.” His roommate nodded distractedly at him, taking another glass of jungle juice from Kyungsoo. It smelled like vodka and strawberries. “Please don’t break anything,” Jongdae asked, feeling just a bit worried. Minseok didn’t reply, zooming off to help Baekhyun and Hani put together the playset under Kyungsoo and Junsu’s watchful eyes. Kris patted Jongdae on the back.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Go to bed.”

Jongdae shot him a grateful glance and staggered down the hall, bumping into the wall and yawning as he went.

 

It was quiet in Yixing’s apartment. A little too quiet, if Yixing were to be honest. Kris was gone somewhere for the night—he hadn’t told Yixing where; he’d only told him not to expect him home before morning—and Yixing felt far more alone than he had in a while. _Psych_ played in the background, Sean’s running commentary barely a distraction as Yixing clinked around in the kitchen, banging pots and pans for the sheer sound, mixing together flour and cocoa and eggs for late-night brownies. They’d be horribly unhealthy, but Yixing actually had free time for the first time in a long time and brownies sounded good.

At the table, he’d set up his sketchpad and some watercolors, intending to play around a bit for the night. He’d never really done a whole lot with watercolor, preferring oil paint as his medium. He liked the heavy feel of it. Watercolor was almost too light, too soft. Oil was dark and vivid. He’d been painting a figure, a man in red bathed in the off-yellow light spilling from the streetlamp he stood beneath, his shoulders hunched against invisible wind and the quiet solitude of the night. Half shrouded in darkness, a woman in red clung to his arm. It would have looked better in oil. The medium was far too happy for the picture he painted. Yixing stared at it from where he stood at the counter, pouring his brownie batter into a pan. He wouldn’t be able to sell it.

No one would believe the painting was his. No one except Yifan, anyway. Only Yifan knew how badly Yixing had been spiraling lately. He lived with him after all, saw him struggle at his easel to finish commissions he didn’t remember how to create, stare at his hands like he’d been betrayed, scratch at his ankle where the offending tattoo still spelled out Jongdae’s name too clearly for Yixing to forget. Sometimes Yixing looked at his paintings and noticed that the lines were cleaner, straighter, more professional. He pretended he didn’t notice the paintbrushes hidden in Yifan’s desk.

Yixing put the brownies in the oven and set a timer for fifty minutes. He looked back at his painting. It was shit. He frowned, not proud of the way the image seemed to bleed sadness. He’d been shooting for a feeling of mystery and intrigue, maybe just a slight touch of seduction. He hadn’t wanted _that_ thing he ended up painting.

He’d lost track of time, staring at the painting and wondering when it had begun to go wrong, when his phone rang. Obnoxiously. With that stupid pen pineapple apple pen song. Which meant Luhan. His friend had changed the ringtone while Yixing was still in China, claiming it to be the best post-modern piece of music to exist. Yixing grinned a bit and picked up the phone.

“Hello?” He could hear music thumping in the background, wherever Luhan was.

“Hi?”

“Lu?”

“Xing!” Luhan’s voice crackled over the line, coloring with excitement. “Thank fuck you’re awake. What’s up? How’ve you been? Actually, isn’t it like 2 am where you’re at? Why are you awake?”

Yixing smiled to himself, basking in the comfort of Luhan’s voice. “Can’t sleep. Why’d you call?”

“I’m bored,” Yixing could feel Luhan shrug. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“It’s too quiet. Yifan’s out for the night and I don’t know what to do with myself.”

An understanding _ahhh_ rumbled through the phone. “Are you painting?”

Yixing’s lips quirked at Luhan’s uncanny ability to read his mind, even halfway around the world. “Yeah. Or at least I was. I can’t get the mood right.”

Luhan tsked. “That’s not good. You’re supposed to be the mood master. China’s little golden painting boy. Where’d all your talent disappear to?”

A dry, hollow laugh slipped from Yixing’s lips. “I think my soulmate took it.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“You’d be surprised.” Yixing rubbed his eyes with his free hand, staring blearily at the painting on the table. “It’s pretty bad Lu. I saw him the other day. He came to the coffee shop while I was working. I couldn’t even take his order. It was awful.”

The line went silent, the tinny buzz of bass in the background the only indication that Luhan hadn’t hung up. The clock tick-tocked on the wall. The brownie timer had fourty-two minutes left. Finally Luhan exhaled loudly.

“I wish I was there Xing. Really, I do.”

“What do you mean?” Yixing asked.

“Well it’s just,” Luhan paused, took another breath, started up again. “I’m not good at this you know? This whole comfort thing? I mean, my soulmate is shit too, but I’ve been dealing with it for a while now so it’s a bit better, and I’m not all sensitive artist like you so I can kind of just ignore it.” Luhan went silent for a second and Yixing heard the music turn off. “I guess I feel bad, because I feel like if anyone gets it it’s me, and really I get it, but I’m the sweary one. I mean, I make your mom angry and I embarrass you in front of your friends and I joke around and flirt with everyone in the club and I don’t take anything seriously and the soulmate thing is serious as hell. I don’t know how to handle it. So yeah. I’m sorry.”

Yixing didn’t respond. In the background Luhan turned the music back on. He imagined the way Jongdae had looked at him at the coffee shop, concerned and surprised and maybe even happy to see him and _sad_. He thought of Luhan and his soulmate who was still in love with someone else and didn’t realize that Luhan was standing right in front of him. “Who even is your soulmate Lu?”

The reply was almost instantaneous. “Sorry man. Can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?” Yixing asked.

“I don’t want to. And frankly, it hurts less when you don’t verbalize it.” Yixing nodded along with that. Luhan’s voice stuttered, as if he’d just remembered something. “Oh yeah, Xing, want to hear a secret?”

“A secret?”

“Yeah.” Luhan’s voice hushed to a near whisper. “I think my soulmate knows who I am.”

“ _What_?” Yixing couldn’t believe it. “How?”

“I think he knows my name.” Luhan said.

“But how do you know?”

“Well,” Luhan said, “he used it. I don’t think he knew I was there, but I definitely heard him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that,” Luhan said. “I heard him say my name. Which means that he knows my name. Which means that he should have my name tramp-stamped on his ass in the exact same way that his name is tattooed on mine.”

Yixing tilted his head. “What _exactly_ did you hear him say, Lu?”

“’Luhan, Yixing’s friend.’ I didn’t hear anything other than that.” Luhan coughed. “I walked away before I could hear anymore because he was on the phone and I was afraid he’d see me.”

“Wait,” Yixing said, “Your soulmate knows me?”

“I mean, I guess yeah. But anyway.” Yixing could imagine Luhan over the phone, thoughts racing, trying to find a way to change the subject. “What about your soulmate?”

“Pardon?”

“Your soulmate? You said you saw him the other day, right? Couldn’t even talk to him?”

Yixing huffed, too lazy to pursue the previous conversation, knowing he’d get nothing from Luhan if nothing was what Luhan wanted to give him. “Yeah, I saw him.”

“Is he twenty yet?”

“I don’t know Lu,” Yixing sighed. “I honestly haven’t spoken with him in months.”

“Oh.” Luhan grew quiet. “I mean, you said it was bad. I hadn’t realized it was that extreme. Like, even I still talk to my soulmate, which is stressful. And believe me, I’m not a stress person.”

Yixing laughed. “I think I’ve known you long enough to know that Lu. Anyway.” He let his thought trail away.

Luhan noticed. “You ready to hang up?”

“Yeah,” Yixing nodded. “My brownies are almost done and I need to put my paint stuff away before I crash tonight.”

“Fair enough, fair enough.” Something like wistfulness slipped into the tones of Luhan’s voice. “I miss you Xing. Come back to China soon, okay?”

Yixing nodded, a smile curling to rest at the corners of his lips. “I will Lu. I miss you too.”

“Bye.”

“Bye bye.”

Twenty minutes later the time for Yixing’s brownies beeped. Yixing ate two and went to bed.

 

Back in Jongdae and Minseok’s apartment the party had died down. Most people were asleep, strewn on or around the now fully constructed playset. Minseok balanced precariously half in the slide and half in the house of the playset, hugging a hammer. Kyungsoo was curled into a ball in the corner of the couch, face illuminated by the white-blue glow of his phone as he texted Alice, who had left the party early to make it to her night shift. Baekhyun, Hani and Junsu cuddled together in a puddle on the floor.

In Jongdae’s room, a phone rang.

The sound woke Jongdae slowly, the soft chimes more like a dream than a ringtone. Jongdae came to with a groan, hovering in the uncomfortable in-between of hungover and still drunk. He reached out for his phone, groping blindly in the darkness for the noise. He finally found it, his fingers coming into contact with smooth glass as he answered the call, neglecting to look at who the caller was before bringing it to his ear.

“Hello?”

“You were born at 3:41 in the morning, right?” The voice was high, smooth, a little breathless—perhaps with excitement—and above all, familiar. Jongdae sat up with a jolt, barely noticing the pounding of his head.

“Liyin?”

He heard a snort. “Yes Jongdae. You have caller ID, right? Didn’t you check to see who it was? Or have you deleted my number already?”

“What?” Jongdae muttered, still trying to catch up. “No. No I haven’t deleted your number yet. I didn’t look. Yeah, I just didn’t look is all.” He pressed his palm harshly into his eyes, forcing the drowsiness out of them. “Why are you calling again?”

“Your birthday,” Liyin repeated, “it’s 3:41 in the morning, right? Like the time you were actually born?”

“Ummm,” Jongdae had to think for a bit, tracking back in his mind, trying to remember. “Yes? I mean I think so. It’s sometime early in the morning anyway. Why?”

“Your soulmate!”

“What?” Jongdae couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice, unsure if he had heard her correctly, or if he was still drunk.

“You should have a tattoo now! Who’s your soulmate?”

“My soulmate?” It took a few seconds to process before Jongdae realized what Liyin was saying. “Holy _shit_. My _soulmate_.”

“So?” Liyin urged. Jongdae could picture her bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, the breathless excitement in her voice suddenly making sense. “Who is it?”

“One sec,” Jongdae said. “Let me look.” He lifted up his shirt, searching his stomach, and then his arms, next his legs. There was nothing. Then a flash of black on his ankle caught Jongdae’s eyes, as he stood to inspect his back. He pushed his sock down just a bit farther, inhaling sharply at the name.

“Oh god.”

“What?” Liyin asked. “Who is it? Do you know?”

“Liyin,” Jongdae muttered, “Liyin. Hold up.”

“What?”

“Do you remember that guy from last year, my artist friend, the one I was really tight with who suddenly disappeared?”

“Yixing?” Liyin asked. “I don’t know why you’d ask that. I mean, you know him better than me.”

Jongdae remained silent.

“Oh.” Liyin said, the noise she made whenever she put something together. “It’s Yixing isn’t it?”

Jongdae nodded, before remembering that Liyin couldn’t see him through the phone. “I think so.”

“You think?” Liyin’s voice twitched. “It’s not really an unsure thing Jongdae. There’s a name tattooed on your skin. It’s not subjective.”

“I know.” Jongdae played with the fabric of his blanket, rolling the soft fuzz between his fingers.

“So what’s the name?”

“Zhang Yixing.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“What?” Jongdae couldn’t keep up with Liyin’s changing moods. “What are you talking about?”

“Go talk to him!”

“Liyin,” Jongdae began, “I can’t. He’s-“

“He’s nothing,” Liyin spat back. “Don’t you dare argue with me Kim Jongdae. What was it you said to me when we broke up? You said, ‘we were great, together right?’ which is true, but then you told me that soulmates are supposed to be better, which means, and I’m quoting you here, ‘your relationship with your soulmate will be better than anything you had with me, and I don’t want to brag but I think I did a pretty good job.’ Have a little faith Jongdae. The tattoos aren’t crazy. They know who your soulmate is, even if you don’t. And besides, Yixing’s older than us right? He probably already knows you’re his soulmate.”

“Oh my god.” The implications of that statement hit Jongdae, forcing him back to the gallery and Yixing and _Reaching_. When Yixing had said he was jealous of their relationship, Jongdae assumed that he meant he liked Liyin, or just hated being single. It had never occurred to Jongdae that Yixing had wanted _him_. “Oh my _god_. I’m not sober enough for this.”

“Jongdae?” Liyin sounded concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“He knows Liyin,” Jongdae’s voice pitched higher. “Oh god he’s known for such a long time. What do I _do_?” Jongdae’s chest clutched with a sudden need. “I have to see him. Oh god, Liyin, I have to see him.”

“Then go talk to him.” Liyin said. “You know where he lives right?”

“I mean yeah, he’s Kris’ roommate. But Kris isn’t there right now-”

“Which is good,” Liyin cut in, “because you and Yixing need to talk.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you going?” Liyin asked.

Jongdae stood, trying to drag on his jeans with one hand. “I’m going.”

“Good,” Liyin said. “I’m glad. Anyway, I need to go back to bed. Mark just woke up.”

Jongdae wasn’t expecting that. “You and Mark live together?”

“Uh, yeah? I mean, it kind of just happened.”

Jongdae smiled at Liyin’s nervous voice. “I’m glad,” he said, ignoring Liyin’s squeak of surprise. “You two are cute together.”

He hung up before she could reply, a slight smile still curling on his lips as he dug through his closet, trying to find a shirt.

 

Jongdae hadn’t realized he’d have to sneak through the Playtime Palace to get through his front door, so he was a bit surprised to find himself, still just a little drunk, flailing his way up the net ladder, into the playhouse itself, around his snoozing roommate, and down the slide to the front door. On his way out he snatched Minseok’s keys, grateful that he wouldn’t have to walk to Yixing’s. He’d forgotten a sweatshirt and it was cold, but there was no way in hell he´d be climbing back through that playset just for a coat.

He unlocked the car, rubbing his hands together as he sat and cursed the weather. September wasn´t supposed to be as cold as it was. For a second he just sat there, waiting for the car to heat and trying to calm the riot in his stomach. Now that he was almost on his way talking to Yixing felt crazy, like an insurmountable thing. They hadn´t talked seriously in months. He started the car, picturing Yixing opening the door only to shut it in his face, and backed out with the mental image of Yixing telling Jongdae he didn´t want him anymore. The thought made Jongdae sick and he almost turned around. He didn´t, but only because Liyin´s voice still rang in his ears.

_Your relationship with your soulmate will be better than anything you had with me_.

God, Jongdae hoped so. If Yixing would still be willing to take him after all the shit he´d dealt with anyway. Jongdae couldn´t imagine how hard it must have been, for Yixing to know he was his soulmate and watch him with Liyin. Had Jongdae and Yixing´s positions been reversed, Jongdae was sure he probably would’ve gone insane. Maybe Yixing had.

Jongdae pulled up in front of Yixing´s apartment, staring at it with something akin to fear in his face and nausea in his gut. Yixing wouldn´t shut him out. He had to believe it. He slowly left the car, taking far too long to shut the door and lock it, before trudging up the steps to the third floor.

Somehow, he knocked. He wasn´t sure how. There was no response. Jongdae knocked again, and wondered how it suddenly felt so much colder. He shivered where he stood. He heard a noise from inside and suddenly Jongdae couldn´t feel anything other than the rushing in his ears and the nausea threatening to make him vomit into the flowerpot in front of the apartment across from Yixing´s.

Almost too slowly the apartment door opened, Yixing behind it, hair messy and face droopy with sleep and lips round in surprise. Jongdae felt his heart drop through the floor, wondering how he had missed the longing in Yixing’s eyes before. Yixing stared back, silent for moments before finally speaking, his confusion piercing the early morning air.

“Jongdae? Why are you here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just an epilogue left now my friends. Oh wait and one more chapter before that. Sorry I'm an english major haven't counted anything in years.


	8. SOULMATES

If Yixing had a list of people he expected to see at his door at four in the morning, Jongdae would not be on it. Especially this version of him, clearly anxious, with trembling hands and sweat beading on his forehead.

“Jongdae?” Yixing couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice. “Why are you here?”

Yixing watched Jongdae make eye contact with him, his face blanching. “Yixing.” He began, swallowing. He kept his hands clenched together in front of him and Yixing barely stopped himself from reaching out to pull the too-tight fingers apart. “Look, I-” Jongdae broke off again, his eyes dropping from Yixing’s to stare at the floor. He was shaking so badly that even his shoulders trembled. He took a deep breath. “Look, I just wanted to say-” Jongdae choked. “Oh god I’m going to throw up.”

He shoved past Yixing into the apartment, racing to the bathroom in a desperate effort to make it to the toilet before his nerves got the better of him. He barely made it, retching into the porcelain bowl as Yixing watched cautiously from against the door frame. The man balanced precariously against the toilet bowl, his face all but in it, his nose mere inches away from touching the water.

“Jongdae, are you drunk?” Yixing asked, still not quite believing that his soulmate was in his house, throwing up in his bathroom. He focused on vehemently repressing his desire to sympathy-vomit. The whole thing felt like some sort of fever dream.

“I was,” Jongdae replied, vomiting again. “Earlier anyway. I don’t know. I might still be now.”

“Shouldn’t you be retching somewhere where Liyin can take care of you?” Yixing asked, inwardly wincing at how hostile the question sounded. Here was his soulmate, the man he’d so desperately wanted for almost a year, the man who’d singlehandedly taken his heart and destroyed it, and the only man who could repair that heart, right in front of him. Somehow Jongdae had come to his apartment—why, Yixing had no idea—and the first thing Yixing did was make a passive aggressive remark about his girlfriend. Yixing wanted to kick himself.

“We broke up,” Jongdae said, curling himself around tighter around the toilet bowl as with another wave of nausea overcame him.

Yixing felt his entire world lurch to a stop. “You what?” Jongdae vomited again.

“We broke up.” Jongdae leaned back from the toilet bowl, his hair flat against his sweaty forehead. “This summer. You know, that whole, ‘we’re not working out so let’s see other people’ jazz.”

“Wait what? Why?” Yixing ignored Jongdae’s disbelieving look, too caught up in the news that _his soulmate was single_ to remember that he and Jongdae hadn’t spoken in over ten months. Their conversation flowed more smoothly than a ten-month separation would suggest.

“I told you,” Jongdae said. “We weren’t working out so we decided to see other people.”

“But you were so perfect for each other.” Yixing still couldn’t wrap his head around it. His soulmate was single. _Single_. Jongdae, who always fit so perfectly with Liyin, wasn’t with Liyin anymore. Liyin wouldn’t always be around like she so painfully used to be, perfect and beautiful and in love.

Jongdae huffed. “Why are you so hung up on this?” he asked, shoving himself away from the toilet bowl. He moved to the sink, watching Yixing’s face in the mirror. “We haven’t talked in over ten months and the first thing you even think to ask about is my ex-girlfriend? Isn’t that kind of messed up Xing?”

Yixing felt a tremor at the use of the nickname, something in his heart flaring weakly back to life. Hope, maybe. “I. I don’t know, Jongdae.”

“Dae,” Jongdae interrupted.

“I don’t know, Dae.” Yixing corrected, the nickname clunky and difficult in his mouth. His tongue tripped over the start, pronouncing it like an awkward mix of ‘j’ and ‘d’. “I just, it was always you two. Jongdae and Liyin, Liyin and Jongdae. Together since high school, destined for forever. I mean, you were attached at the hip last year, the steadiest relationship in the friend group. I can’t believe you aren’t together anymore, I guess.” Yixing shrugged, trying not to look as lost as he felt. “I mean, you talked about her all the time. She was ‘everything you ever wanted’. You never shut up about her.”

Jongdae softened, trying to imagine how Yixing must have felt knowing that Jongdae was his soulmate even as Jongdae pranced around with Liyin. “Yixing,” Jongdae said, his tone quiet and pleading. Yixing looked up from the floor, his eyes filled with barely unshed tears. It struck Jongdae then, that the past ten months must have been more painful for Yixing than he could have possibly imagined. “Look Yixing, Liyin _was_ everything I ever wanted.” The speed at which Yixing’s shoulders slumped was terrifying to Jongdae and he rushed to finish his thought.” Back then anyway. But she wasn’t my soulmate.” Jongdae stared at Yixing as he said the words, hoping his eyes would convey a sincerity his tone seemed to be incapable of accomplishing. “And I wasn’t hers either.”

Yixing dragged the back of his hand across his face, getting rid of some of the tears threatening to overflow. “What?”

“Yeah,” Jongdae said. “It’s true. We found out this summer, during her birthday dinner.” Jongdae cracked a self-deprecating smile. “She was wearing this low-cut shirt and I could see her tattoo. It was on her left boob. She thought I was staring at her chest because I was horny. She tried to flirt with me and I blurted out the name of her soulmate right there in the restaurant. She accused me of being over-protective.” Jongdae chuckled a bit, relishing when Yixing let out a strained laugh with him. It was awkward. At least a bit. But it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed. At least, Jongdae hoped it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed. He wanted his soulmate. “Look,” Jongdae ventured, “I want to keep talking, but is there a toothbrush I can borrow? My mouth tastes like bile.”

Yixing assured Jongdae that there was, dashing off down the hall to find one. In the meantime, Jongdae washed his face, relishing the feel of warm water on his skin and wondering exactly how intoxicated he still was. Part of him wanted to say he was sober. The other part of him didn’t think that he’d have the courage to say anything to Yixing if he wasn’t drunk.

Once Yixing returned and Jongdae brushed his teeth the two relocated to the living room and Yifan’s bright orange crime of a couch. Jongdae had hoped that the earlier mood—the one where Yixing didn’t seem ashamed to ask questions and they could speak without awkwardness—would continue, but it didn’t. Instead Jongdae found himself sitting at one end of the couch while Yixing sat at the other and stared out the window behind Jongdae’s head. They stayed like that for a while, neither speaking, carefully cradling that tenuous peace that seemed like it could snap with a single misplaced word. Once Yixing took a deep breath, like he was about to speak, but he stayed silent. It lasted like that a few minutes more until finally, Jongdae spoke.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Yixing startled. “Tell you what?”

Jongdae’s eyes were sad. “That I was your soulmate,” he said. Yixing glanced away, giving Jongdae time to really look at him. He took in Yixing’s pale skin, his thin wrists, the way his eyes seemed to sink into his skull, surrounded by dark circles. Yixing’s hands were shaking, and Jongdae wondered how the artist painted like that. His sweater, which fit the year before, hung loose on his shoulders where he’d lost weight. Jongdae flashed back to the coffee shop, saw Yixing dropping the glass that he didn’t seem to notice until he heard the tinkling sound of it breaking on the floor. “Yixing,” Jongdae pleaded, “What happened to you?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Yixing’s eyes hardened. He swiveled slowly, his glare boring into Jongdae with an intensity Jongdae hadn’t realized was still possible. The silence that had been careful—but not hostile—before, quickly turned frosty. “You happened,” Yixing said, measured words ticking from his lips like a time bomb. “Your name showed up on my fucking ankle at 11:43 at night on my fucking birthday and I knew you were my soulmate and it ripped me apart. What did you think happened, Jongdae?”

“Wait, but wh-”

Yixing wouldn’t let him speak. “I had your name Jongdae.” Yixing said, his voice still defiant but less insistent now. “I had your name and you had Liyin. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t tell you. She was perfect and beautiful and you were so happy together. How could I justify walking up to you and saying ‘hi, my name’s Yixing and I’m your soulmate’?” Yixing’s voice wavered closer to tears. “I didn’t have anything to offer you Jongdae. How could I-”

“You didn’t have nothing to offer,” Jongdae interrupted. “You were my _friend_.” The words meant for comfort only exaggerated Yixing.

“Exactly,” Yixing said. Tears ran down his face now. He reached for a tissue. “I was your _friend_. Nothing more. God _damn_ it Jongdae, I’m a man. And you, given all evidence, are straight. How could you expect me to tell you that I’m your soulmate when you were straight and in a perfect relationship with a perfect woman?” Yixing stood to throw away his tissue, grabbing another on his way by. “God Dae,” Yixing grimaced. “What kind of friend _does_ that?”

Jongdae listened to his outburst in quiet shock, carefully digesting every word that was said. Even after Yixing had finished and returned to his corner of the couch, sniffling into another tissue, Jongdae remained quiet. Yixing went to the kitchen and got them both water. Jongdae stayed quiet. Yixing turned on the tv. He watched an entire episode of _Psych_. Jongdae sat quiet.

Until finally, “Fuck. It’s all my fault.”

“What?” Yixing asked.

“All of it,” Jongdae gestured haphazardly, the pieces falling into place in his mind with numbing clarity. “It’s my fault. The reason you started avoiding me. Why you went to China. You taking on so much work. Your exhaustion. How thin you are. All of it. It’s all my fault.” Jongdae buried his head in his hands. “How did I not notice?” He groaned. “I was so angry. So mad at you for ignoring me. So mad at you for leaving. But,” Jongdae laughed, a depraved lost sort of sound. “It was my fault. All mine. Yixing.” He stared up at the artist with wild eyes. “I’m sorry. So so sorry. Please,” Jongdae reached forward, grasping one of Yixing’s hands. “Please forgive me.”

Yixing nodded, doing everything he could to keep from melting into Jongdae’s touch. Carefully he extracted himself from Jongdae’s grip.

“Jongdae,” Yixing said, “it’s okay.” He looked at his soulmate in front of him, the man he had longed for so long who now sat on his couch, repentant and broken and _there_. “It’s okay,” Yixing said. “I forgive you.”

 

The two talked it out.

It took time and tears and a few shots of Yifan’s tequila, but by 6:52 in the morning the two men had managed to clear the air between them. Jongdae apologized. Yixing apologized back. They watched _Psych_. At 7:03 am Jongdae fiddled with his phone and Yixing found himself wondering what would happen to them in the future. True, they’d righted past wrongs, but they hadn’t addressed the true elephant in the room. They were soulmates, and soulmates were meant to be together.

While Yixing lived in his head trying to imagine the future and answer the what-ifs, Jongdae kept finding his eyes drawn to the slight artist. He’d never really looked at Yixing before, Jongdae realized, allowing his thoughts to wander as he began to look at Yixing and actually _see_. His dimples were deeper than Jongdae remembered, denting his cheeks even when Yixing wasn’t smiling. His lips were full, plush like a woman’s but without the sticky uncomfortable presence of lip balm. His expression looked blank but his eyes were alive. He was thin. Too thin. Jongdae couldn’t keep the spike of regret from coursing through him. It was his fault. But Yixing, how much did Yixing like him, Jongdae wondered, for him to become like that?

If he could go back, Jongdae would have pursued harder. He would never have left Yixing alone. He would have made him tell him what was wrong, even if it was painful. But perhaps, Jongdae was beginning to realize, it was for the best. How would he have responded if Yixing had told him they were soulmates while he was still with Liyin? Jongdae hated himself for it, but he knew he probably would have turned Yixing away. He wouldn’t have believed him, mind still fixated on Liyin and their future and the promise ring on his dresser.

Jongdae chuckled lowly to himself at the thought of the promise ring. When he’d bought it the clerk asked him, “Is this for your soulmate?”

“No,” Jongdae had replied. “It’s for the girl I hope is my soulmate.”

The clerk called him crazy, shaking his head in disbelief as he removed the ring from its case and rung it up for purchase. In hindsight, Jongdae understood. What fool bought a ring before they knew who their soulmate was, while still so much was up to chance? After Liyin’s birthday, the ring had gone back to Jongdae’s dresser, a visual, painful reminder of just how wrong Jongdae had been. He’d held onto it for weeks, still keeping it in that visible place, all the way until they split. But the day Liyin uttered those fateful words “let’s break up,” Jongdae threw the ring away. He’d thought he’d regret it more after he’d done it, but Jongdae had felt nothing but relief once the ring was gone. It was like the ring had been his final tie to Liyin, and by throwing it out, he’d finally managed to separate himself from the beautiful girl he’d loved who belonged to someone else.

“I’m not in love with you Yixing,” Jongdae said, breaking the silence. There was no response. He looked over at his soulmate to find that Yixing, in the past ten minutes, had fallen asleep. His head lolled back against the couch cushions and his mouth hung open, ever so slightly. He didn’t snore. Jongdae nudged him with his foot.

Yixing shifted where he sat, groggily raising his head. “What?”

“I’m not in love with you,” Jongdae repeated.

Yixing sat up a little straighter, rubbing his eyes. “What?”

“We’re soulmates, right?” Jongdae found himself rationalizing his statement. “We’re supposed to be together. It’s how it works. But I’m not in love with you.”

“Oh.” Yixing flopped back into the cushions. “If that was all you wanted to say you could have told me later.”

Now it was Jongdae’s turn to be surprised. “What?”

“Well,” Yixing said, a smile beginning to curl on his face, “I’ve been thinking about it. It’s enough for me that you know now. Even if we never spoke again, I think I could learn to be okay. Because the what-ifs are gone.” He gave Jongdae a searching glance. “Do you get it? It’s like, I’ve done everything I can now, so even if we don’t end up together I won’t have anything to regret. So, it’s okay that you’re not in love with me I guess. I don’t expect that. Just,” Yixing paused, licked his lips, made eye contact. “Just, know that I’m in love with you.”

Jongdae realized he didn’t respond fast enough when Yixing moved to stand.

“Wait.”

He reached out to grab Yixing’s hand, dragging him back onto the couch. Yixing sat, closer this time than he was before, thanks to Jongdae yanking on his arm.

“Look Yixing,” Jongdae said, desperately trying to explain. “I’m not in love with you. Not right now. I _know_ that. But I also know that I don’t want to give up. I feel _something_ for you, I just don’t know what it is yet. I know that I missed you like hell this summer, and I got jealous when I saw you in the coffee shop with your coworker. I didn’t get as upset about Liyin breaking up with me as I should have, and when I saw your name on my ankle this morning Yixing—damnit—I wasn’t upset. I—I was scared. I was nervous. I,” Jongdae scrambled for the words. “I was a lot of things Xing. And, and those things, those were—I wasn’t scared of you. I was scared that you wouldn’t want me. I was nervous because I hadn’t spoken to you in ten months and I was about to chase you down at four in the morning to tell you the you were my soulmate and all I could do was pray that you wouldn’t slam the door in my face. Look, someone told me once—actually Minseok told me, not someone, that sounds too mysterious—that if Liyin and I weren’t soulmates, it would be because there was someone better out there for me. That Liyin and I were great together, so that if we weren’t soulmates, whoever we ended up with would be even greater. You’re that soulmate Yixing.”

Jongdae swallowed. Yixing didn’t move, watching him with quiet, appraising eyes.

“Look,” Jongdae forced himself to keep going. “I’m not saying we’re going to be perfect. We’ve got too much history for that. But Xing, I want to try to be the soulmate you deserve, if you let me. Can we please start over?” Jongdae held out his hand. “Hello,” he said, looking Yixing straight in the eyes. “My name is Kim Jongdae. I’m you’re soulmate. I like _Psych_ , McDonalds and the color green.”

Yixing stared at him, the six inches between their thighs starting to feel more like a canyon. Jongdae, along with everything he offered, was so far away, Yixing felt. All he had to do was reach out, but still it felt like an impossible task, a leap of faith Yixing wasn’t sure he could make. Finally, Yixing stretched his hand out. It clasped Jongdae’s, the warmth of it sending shocks up his arm.

“Hi,” he said. “My name is Zhang Yixing. I’m an artist.”

 

Yifan dragged himself home somewhere around 11 am, hungover and bruised where Minseok had dropped a hammer on him. He fumbled with his keys, trying to unlock his door only to find it was already unlocked. He walked in on Jongdae and Yixing sleeping in the living room, curled around each other on Yifan’s ugly orange couch, Yixing’s head on Jongdae’s chest and Jongdae’s arms around Yixing’s waist. Yifan took a picture and sent it to Minseok with the caption: about fucking time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nowwwww it's just the epilogue left


	9. EPILOGUE

Soulmates were a weird thing. One day you barely know the person; the next you can’t imagine waking up without them. Jongdae always thought the movies lied about that. Crazy that it was actually true. He understood Liyin now, the way she’d bounced back from their breakup and into Mark’s arms so quickly. Yixing was everything. Yixing was perfect. Anything he and Liyin had together paled in comparison.

It had been hard, getting to know Yixing. The artist was flighty, timid, unsure of himself with everyone except his brother Yifan. And Jongdae? Well, he’d had some apologizing to do, and some growing, before he could fall in love. The thought of a male soulmate had been terrifying at the time. Jongdae had never been with a man before. The only thing that made it remotely better was that it wasn’t just any guy, it was _Yixing_ , which in hindsight was maybe the whole point. But they’d struggled. More often than not Yixing stayed quiet when he needed to speak. Jongdae spoke too much. Yixing suffered. Jongdae got confused, then angry. They fought then ignored each other then fought again. They survived though, Jongdae liked to remind Yixing, and came out better for it. And now, if there was one thing they were good at it was communication.

A pair of arms snaked around his waist, a weight settling next to him on the bed. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

Jongdae laughed, turning to face his soulmate. Yixing wore a suit, deep blue and tapered to fit his slim waist. His still un-fixed tie lay draped around his neck. “You’re going for stripes?” Jongdae asked, running a lazy hand through Yixing’s hair.

Yixing nodded, holding out his tie. “Can you tie it for me?”

Jongdae snorted, but accepted the striped piece of silk from his soulmate’s hands. “You’d think you’d know how to tie it yourself by now, considering all the fancy things you go to.”

Yixing pouted, jutting out his lower lip. Jongdae tried to ignore it, instead focusing on making the knot he was tying look pretty. Yixing stuck his lip our farther. “Jongdaeeeeeeeee,” he whined. “Come onnnnnn.” Jongdae’s hands shook, his eyes still focused on the tie. Yixing shifted, pouting louder. “Jongdae-ah. Ah, ah, ack. Jongdae stop.” Jongdae smirked, loosening Yixing’s tie so it wasn’t choking him. Yixing sniffed, and Jongdae finally caved, meeting his boyfriend’s puppy-dog eyes. Yixing puckered his lips. Jongdae huffed but acquiesced, kissing his boyfriend.

Kissing Yixing was something Jongdae would never get used to. There was a sweetness to it, something that settled in his gut and curled in his toes. The press of lips against his own, no matter if they were harsh with passion or soft with lazy convenience, forcing the quiet parts of him awake.

It had taken him months to kiss Yixing, and not for lack of trying. It was like one of those 5+1 deals. The first time he’d tried to kiss him Yixing had leaned over and Jongdae found himself with a face-full of Yixing’s green flannel shirt. The second time Yixing flat out rejected him, holding out his hand in front of Jongdae’s lips. Jongdae complained to Yifan about that one, who just shrugged and said that maybe Yixing was testing him. Jongdae wasn’t positive. The third time Jongdae chickened out, drawing painfully close to Yixing’s face, close enough to count eyelashes, before pulling away and mumbling something about the weather. The fourth time Yixing kissed him, a split-second peck that Jongdae spent the next few hours convincing himself actually happened. It wasn’t until the fifth time that Jongdae was brave enough to grab Yixing’s face, fingers closing just under his ear to draw him in and pull his lips against Jongdae’s own. When they’d pulled apart Yixing had rested his forehead against Jongdae’s own and whispered, “finally.”

Yixing pulled away. “Okay. We’re going to be late. You _need_ to get dressed.”

“Fiiiine,” Jongdae huffed, standing from the bed. “I’ll go put my suit on.”

 

Yixing watched Jongdae walk through the exhibition, back straight, breathtaking in his black suit. Liyin was nowhere to be found, a far cry from the last time Yixing and Jongdae had both been in Muse. Paintings hung on the walls, oil and gouache closeups of noses and eyes, lips curling into smiles, hangs clasping around each other, a shoulder gripped in a hug. It was Yixing’s senior exhibit, his final hurrah before he returned to China.

It had been a sticking point in their relationship, his and Jongdae’s. Yixing needed to go home. He hadn’t been back to China since that terrible summer two years ago. Jongdae couldn’t imagine going long distance. They’d fought over it for months, Yixing choosing to go crash with Yifan more often than not, Jongdae waking up to an empty apartment and a single text— _I’ll be back later, Y_. Finally Jongdae caved after one particularly terrible night when Yixing broke down in tears over his parents and his family and his hometown. They’d agreed on a year—Yixing would return to China while Jongdae finished his last two semesters. Yixing would return in time for Jongdae’s graduation, and after that? Well, they’d talk about it, but either way, whatever they chose they would choose together.

“Are you happy?”

Yixing startled, turning to face the man who’d suddenly appeared at his elbow. “Yifan!”

“Did I scare you?” his brother asked, a sly grin creeping up his face.

“I’d say so,” Minseok chimed in, materializing on Yixing’s other side. “How you doing Yixing? Finally graduated. Finally free. Do you love it?”

Yixing laughed, nodding, leaning into the hug that Minseok offered. Yifan reached out and ruffled his hair, messing up the gel. Yixing punched him in the shoulder. Yifan cringed away, faking hurt. A quiet voice interrupted.

“Umm, excuse me?”

Everyone froze, heads swiveling to face a lanky, curly-haired man who played nervously with a camera in his hands. Yixing cleared his throat, stranding straight, reaching a hand up to pat down a stray hair. “Can I help you?”

The man visibly swallowed. “Hi. Um, I’m Park Chanyeol. I’m a photographer—um, I’m a huge fan of your work. I just, uh, I just wanted to meet you.”

“Oh,” Yixing let out a breath. “A fan. Hi. It’s nice to meet you. Um,” Yixing gestured to the two men beside him. “This is Yifan, and this is Minseok.”

“Hi,” Yifan grinned, stretching out his hand. “You can call me Kris.”

Chanyeol nodded, shaking his hand.

Minseok stretched his hand out next. “Kim Minseok.”

“Holy hell.” Three men turned to face Yifan, who stared gob-smacked at Minseok and Chanyeol’s joined hands. “Holy hell, Min.” He gestured to the black ink staining the inside of his right wrist. “Chanyeol is your soulmate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh wait there's one more chapter


	10. SPIN-OFF: Strings Cut

*clears throat*

 

I would like to announce that the Xiuyeol spin-off, [Strings Cut](https://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/1290100), is officially up! Check out the foreward:

Four years. That's how long it took Minseok to find his soulmate after he turned twenty. He thought they'd live happily ever after--ride off into the sunset. Chanyeol has plans for bigger and better things. He doesn't want a soulmate, especially a soulmate like Minseok, in the way. But rejection from a soulmate can be deadly. Is it possible for Minseok to love again, when Chanyeol almost kills him?

Not gonna lie, this is currently a link that'll send you to AFF. I won't be posting Strings Cut on AO3 until it's fully completed, mostly because I'm lazy and cross-posting is a lot of work. Right now it's about 2/3s of the way completed. Hope to see you there! I'f not, I'll see you here (maybe) whenever the fic is finished <3

 

xoxo,

Jay

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaand there you go. First chap is posted! Some of you may recognize this story from AFF. I promise I'm the same JayMor here as I am there :)
> 
> Anyway, hello AO3 readers. Honestly I'm posting this for a school assignment, but since I'm already started I guess I'll post all of it, once chapter a day until it's done. 
> 
> Have a smashing day/night/whatever, and if you liked it please drop a comment. I love hearing what's going on in all y'all's brains. 
> 
> Jay


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